Into The Forest
by SoloWraith
Summary: The four main characters and setting are canon, but the story mostly diverges from there. Each character represents a season, and each season has its own strength and weaknesses...
1. Chapter 1

_Late summer, 1757_

She stared down at the body of the young soldier that had just tumbled not far from where she crouched, but the distress she should have felt at being so close to a dying man was curiously numbed. The almost deafening shots still echoed in her ears, along with her sister's shriek of terror--or perhaps, knowing Cora, it had been one of fury. For a few more moments, she clutched at the rough bark of the enormous tree that was partly sheltering her, drawing what minimal comfort she could from its realness, its solidity. Dragging her gaze back up to the treeline, she scanned it for some sign of aid, but there was nothing but the blur of green and brown, the movement of their attackers. Savages. They might well have been animals for all the resemblance they bore to any humans of her acquaintance.

Someone grabbed her elbow, and she whirled, losing her balance as she stepped on the long skirts of her heavy dress. The sound she might have made died in her throat when she realized who it was. Cora's face bore a smear of dirt along her left cheekbone and her hair, normally done up in curls and fastened under the modest cotton caps they both wore while outdoors, was partially coming down. "Run, Alice," Cora hissed, tugging on her arm. "We have to run!"

She shot a glance back at the trees, aware of movement there, wondering if the howls and screeches she was still hearing were starting to fade away. "Where...where are the other men?"

"Now!" Cora jerked her up almost completely, and Alice's legs finally agreed to support her and she stumbled forward. Their pale-colored muslin dresses were a flag against the greenery around them and they would surely have been spotted almost instantly were it not for the protection of the shoulder-high grasses that Cora pulled them into. They ran awkwardly through the field in the opposite direction of the site of the ambush. Alice could see nothing but Cora's thrashing body ahead of her, marked by slashes of fibrous green stalks as they whipped by, but the hand gripping her sweaty one was firm and unrelenting as if her older sister knew exactly where to go. For this she was grateful. If Cora had not come just then she knew she would have stayed by the tree until the worst happened. What the worst was, she did not quite know. Death, she supposed. She had already seen it in the eyes of the soldier who'd fallen near her. The soldier who had been one of several accompanying them on their journey to the fort. _How will we ever get there now?_

Her shoe, ill-suited with its small flat heel to such a flight, suddenly turned on her as they moved, and she almost fell, but for Cora's hand yanking her along again. There was a moment of fear then when she was sure they were being followed, but it was only her own movement they heard, her own gasps and labored breathing as she struggled to move within the confines of her clothing.

As they came to the end of the field of grasses, which bordered the forest, Cora stopped suddenly, pulling Alice to her, for a listen. It had gone silent. Alice didn't know whether this boded well or ill for them, but it was terrifying.

"We have to keep going," Cora whispered. The three years between them seemed like an immeasurable gap again, though since Alice had become a woman she had come to think of Cora as her companion rather than her superior, but in this new unexplored world she was again reduced to a child, despite her recently achieved sixteen years. "I think the river is down this way."

The Connecticut forest yawned open around them, a seemingly mild environment of trees and shrubs, sloping, but not too rocky or hard to navigate. Sunlight slanted through the branches from a benignly pale blue sky, in odd contrast to the madness of the scene they had just escaped. In the air void of human noise, they became aware of the sounds of smaller animals, of birds flitting from tree to tree, of huge chattering squirrels that leaped above them and scolded them for their very existence, their trespassing into a world to which they so clearly did not belong. As the two Englishwomen made their way down the slope, following the distant sound of running water, which they hoped would conceal their own sounds, a breeze sprung up, carrying with it the scent of pine needles.

Alice's dress clung to her. The bottom twelve inches of her skirts were stained and muddy from several days' travel. Her back prickled with sweat. The wind was welcome as it struck her face and lifted tendrils of her own blond hair, so unlike her sister's. It, too, had come undone in the past half-hour, and was hanging limp in her face. Cora's hair was naturally curly, but Alice had to tie hers up every night in order to induce it to curl even the slightest. Now, unpinned and flattened by sweat and travel, it was as flat as trailing seaweed. She brushed it out of her way with the back of her hand.

"Almost there," Cora murmured, still holding her hand as they made their way further down to the water's edge. What the river meant for them Alice didn't know, but she was willing to trust that her sister could lead them to safety.

Water gurgled and spat over treacherously slippery rocks covered by lichens and slick green moss. The river was not deep but wide, wide enough to present some danger if they were to cross it. Their shoes slid and stuck in the riverbed mud. The water grabbed at their skirts and soaked them. "Don't let go of me," Alice begged. She couldn't swim, though in England Cora had tried to teach her a number of times. She felt the insistent tug of the river on her legs, which, weakened by shock, felt barely strong enough to hold her up.

Cora waded ahead of her, down river, navigating the pebbles in the shallow spots and some larger boulders scattered nearer the middle. Her sister might not know where they were going, but she was determined to get them away from the scene of the ambush, Alice thought, and that was fine with her. The more distance they put between them and those howling red-skins, the better...she had known, of course, before coming to America that it was peopled by Indians, but Duncan had led them to believe that many of the Indians were halfway civilized.

Duncan...

Alice stared at the skirts of the dress swishing in front of her. She had not yet seen tears on the face of its owner. Fear, yes, anger, certainly, revulsion...all these things during and since the ambush in which Duncan had fallen...but no tears. She felt a sinking deep in her stomach, an ache that she was sure must just be a particle of the pain Cora was feeling. Biting her lip, she squeezed Cora's hand. Cora did not turn, but for a moment her fingers clenched tighter in response, in acknowledgement of the wordless communication.

They continued to make their way downstream, slowly in parts when it was required, but as quickly as possible. It was late afternoon and the sun was already slanting down in the sky. Alice regarded its descent with some concern. Many nights had passed in the company of their escorts in the wilderness, but at least there had been tents--and food--and now not only were they deprived of these basic things but also of their male guides. Alice could not even comprehend what it would be like to spend a night under the stars, just the two of them. She tried not to think about it.

Not paying close attention to where Cora was moving, Alice stepped too far to the side and suddenly the river bottom dropped out from beneath her. Water swelled up around her almost to her waist, shockingly chill. Her skirts ballooned up around her and she let out a small shriek of dismay as she floundered, having lost her grip on the hand of her sister. For a moment she was sure she would sink, but then Cora sprang after her and dragged her back onto more solid footing. Both of them clung together for a few more moments, shivering not so much from the water--it was not that cold after the initial contact--but from delayed shock of the previous events. "What are we going to do?" Alice said, knowing it was almost a whimper, knowing it was childish but too scared to care. She needed to hear something reassuring. Something she could focus on, look forward to. But Cora only held her, sweeping her damp hair out of her face and gazing at her with eyes so determined, so dark they were almost black.


	2. Chapter 2

As any good hunter must, he heard the two Englishwomen long before he saw them. Not that they were being excessively noisy. In fact, it seemed to Uncas that they were probably trying to move quietly through the woods. Their words came at infrequent intervals and were hushed, and they made not as much sound as they might have were they males. Uncas had seen British soldiers before and had not yet met a one whose woodland skills he could confidently recommend.

He watched and waited for a while, bemused, his senses alert because there could be no good reason why two white women were in this area unaccompanied. Still, it was pure curiosity that motivated him to stay and not any sense of philanthropy. Nathaniel, who had earlier jested with him about coming home empty-handed the previous few days, would surely be intrigued by this find!

Uncas crouched, the position as natural to him as sitting was for some men, and waited for them to make their way to him. He was armed with a long rifle, bow and arrows, several knives, and a small but deadly hatchet. Not that he imagined he would have to use any of them, but it was within the realm of possibility that the women were some kind of trap. This was bordering on Huron territory, and while he was fairly sure no one knew he was here, it was not impossible for the hunter himself to become the hunted. So he waited.

When the women were only a few steps away from his hiding spot, and he had ascertained that there were no others within shouting distance of them, he rose quietly and stepped out.

He wasn't sure how he had expected them to react. He was fully dressed (he had heard of this foible of white women, fear of man's natural state, from his father), his stance was not threatening, and he bore none of his weapons aloft. For a moment, they stared at each other. The older one had eyes like black ice. She was scared, but more than that, angry. The one who cringed behind her, a child he thought on first glance, was terrified. Skin white as snow. Both of them were soaked and dirty and clearly in need of assistance.

He smiled. It was not an expression his people commonly used with each other, but he had grown up with a white brother, and Chingachgook had educated him in most of the manners of the Yengeese.

The older one stiffened and drew the younger one fully behind her. Uncas showed her his palms in what he assumed they would know was a pacificatory gesture. "You are English," he said, in what to him was a simple statement of the obvious. She must have perceived it as a question. Her eyebrows drew together in a slight, wary frown. "Yes. You are...?"

"My name is..." He hesitated briefly, wondering if he should use their word--Fox--for his name or give it in the original. He decided on the latter. "Uncas. Of the Wolf people; Mohegans. This is my people's ground, although the Huron are also here. Are you hurt?" He couldn't see any evident sign of injury, at least not on the one in front, but he had to know what he was dealing with before making any decisions. All he could see of the younger one was big grey eyes and a mess of pale hair and ridiculous-looking skirts.

The older one shook her head. "Only tired and thirsty." She hesitated, then drew the younger one slightly to her side. "Can you help us?"

Clearly it cost her an effort to say this, and he noticed she didn't meet his eyes at the exact moment of asking.

"Are you being followed?"

"I don't know."

"What are your names? Who--" he thought for a moment and then concluded, "Who do you belong to?"

"I'm Cora and this is my sister Alice. Our father is Colonel George Munro, now at Fort Oswego. We were traveling from Albany with an escort of ten men but..." her voice faltered and failed. Uncas could see the details would have to wait till he got them to relative safety.

"Come," he said then, reaching for her arm, and after a moment she, and the young one trailing after her, followed him.

Dusk was not long off, and had Uncas been alone, running, he could easily have made it back to his father's cabin before the sun sank too far beneath the trees, but with two exhausted and stumbling women to guide he knew they had better not attempt it. Instead, he took them as far as they seemed able to go, found a good location for them to camp and for him to keep watch, and they settled there. For nourishment, he gave them strips of dried meat he carried with him as part of his provisions, of which he had plenty. He was used to spending days away from the cabin at a time, as were both his father and adopted brother. Both Cora and Alice initially looked askance at the weathered offerings but, once he demonstrated chewing a piece, their obvious hunger clearly assuaged any misgivings they might have still had about the origins of the meat.

And so it was thus that night in the forest came upon them. The sisters huddled together on the ground, occasionally murmuring to one another. Uncas took up guard not far away. The younger one was evidently still frightened of him and he didn't want to worry her needlessly, but he wasn't going to be more than a few bounds out of reach either, in case they were in fact being followed. He did not attempt to strike up any conversation with them, but he watched them, intrigued by their dissimilarity--not just their dissimilarity to him, which was of course great, but their dissimilarity to each other.

Nathaniel would know what to do with them. Throughout the night as doubt occasionally assailed him he repeated this thought in his head.

He was not tired. Sleep, like hunger, was something he could put off until such a time as it was more convenient to him to deal with. The women, however, were obviously exhausted, and despite the damp hard ground and whatever other discomforts they were dealing with, had fallen asleep within an hour or so after having eaten and settled down. They lay not exactly in an embrace but Alice had her head pillowed on Cora's arm and the older sister had her other arm curved protectively around the girl as if she were a child. She _was_ a child, Uncas thought, although now that he could see her closely, not as young as he'd initially thought. Just frail and unused to work. A winter baby, perhaps. He himself had seen nineteen strong summers, with each one growing stronger and healthier, able to keep up with and sometimes surpass Nathaniel, who was two years his senior.

The night remained silent and free of threat, with only the normal forest sounds, muted somewhat. There was a light wind stirring the trees, which were in full foliage now. He had thought to be back home by now with a fresh kill to show for his absence, but as he looked down at the strangers who had prevented that he couldn't muster up any irritation. Cora's form was partially shadowed by the bushes at her side, but a shaft of moonlight was coming down directly on Alice's shoulder, gleaming off the pale fabric of her dress. How could they move at all in such things? He wondered if it was an indication the British preferred their women useless and dependent. His own people believed a woman to be capable as a man when it was required, even if that capability was limited in the sphere in which it could operate.

As soon as morning dawned, its grey light creeping through the forest and giving just enough illumination to see by, Uncas roused Cora by a hand on her shoulder. She stirred and woke, her eyes blank with a lack of recognition for a few moments. Then, with an effort, she scrambled up, pulling a drowsy Alice along with her.

He told them, "We've got to keep moving."

"Where are we going?" Cora tried to restore some order to her impossibly tangled hair and gave up within moments.

For all her dirt-streaked face and dark-circled eyes, there was an inherent dignity about her, Uncas thought. "Somewhere you'll be safe."

Those were the last words they exchanged until mid-morning, when they arrived back at the cabin.

Nathaniel was outside, struggling to reconstruct the pair of A-frames that they used for training vegetable vines along. Earlier that week the frames had come down in a minor storm and it appeared he had only just gotten around to setting them back up. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard them approach, turned back to the frames and then looked back a second time.

Uncas greeted his brother in Mohegan. "Hard at work, I see."

Nathaniel's brows drew together in inquiry as he took in the sight of the two young white women. "Where did you find _them_?"

"By the river." Aware of Cora stiffening, probably because she didn't like them conversing in front of her in a language she couldn't understand, he switched to English. "Where's Father?"

"Went after that deer you didn't get." Nathaniel carefully set the A-frame up against a tree and wiped hands on his buckskin leggings, identical to the ones Uncas was wearing. "You two are way off course, by the looks of things."

Cora faced him. "You're not..."

"Indian?" She could have been forgiven for thinking so, Uncas knew, because his adopted brother not only had long black hair, but his skin was also deeply tanned, though it lacked the copper undertones of the Mohegan people. But it was his piercingly blue eyes that gave him away. "No."

"I am Cora Munro, and this is my younger sister, Alice."

"Nathaniel." He gave just the slightest inclination of his head.

Cora shot a doubtful glance at Uncas. "Your...friend? Said we would be safe here."

"Safe," Nathaniel repeated. "My brother--" he emphasized the word for her benefit "--is optimistic. Well, why don't you two go in the cabin and--" he waved a dismissive hand. "Rest. I can't pretend we have all the latest British niceties, but there's water in the basin and a fire on."

The two women evidently thought that in whatever state of disrepair the cabin might be in, it was preferable to another minute spent outdoors in their current state of dishevelment, and promptly did as he suggested, retreating into the house.

Uncas set down his weapons and fiddled for a moment with the catch of his long rifle, avoiding Nathaniel's challenging gaze. Finally he met it. "Brother, what?"

"You brought them here?"

Rhetorical questions weren't a natural part of Uncas's language, but he understood. "I couldn't leave them. You know what would have happened when they were found--"

Nathaniel cut him off with a quick dismissive grunt. "That wouldn't have been our problem. Now--" he pointed a finger in the younger man's direction "--it is."

"It's not a big problem. They were on their way to Oswego. Their father must have sent for them. We can take them back. Might take a week."

"Might take a month."

"Not if you and Father come with me."

"Uncas..."

"Well, they can't stay here with us, can they?"

"No." Nathaniel sighed and ran a hand along a scratchy jaw. "No, they can't."

Uncas picked up his things again and took them towards the small workshed that adjoined the cabin. His rifle needed to be cleaned and adjusted--it had misfired a couple of times over the past few days. Nathaniel followed him in. "Just say it."

"What?" His back to his brother, he began dismantling some of the outer parts of the weapon.

"You brought them here because you thought it would mean something to me."

"Why would it mean anything to you?"

"Because they're English. They're white. You thought--" Nathaniel's voice raised, accusing. "You thought I'd be happy to see them."

"Yeah." Uncas turned around, a flicker of anger, an emotion that was rare to him, igniting now. "I did. When's the last time you saw a white woman?"

"Same as you. Sarah Webb."

Sarah had been the wife of a soldier-turned-farmer. They were a young couple that had lived several days' travel from their current location, but their cabin had recently been torched by raiding tribes in alliance with the French. Nathaniel himself had made the discovery. Uncas immediately regretted asking the question, knowing what sort of scene his brother must have beheld on that day, and knowing what lay even further back in his brother's memories. For a few moments, neither of them said anything.

"I'll help you bring them back," Nathaniel said finally, quietly. He turned towards the entry of the shed, paused on his way out. "But don't you forget--they are not like us. They are not like _me_."

Uncas gazed after him, wondering when Nathaniel had gotten so defensive about his heritage. It was unnatural for a man to be ashamed of where he came from.


	3. Chapter 3

_1745_

Two small boys sat on a backless, rough wooden bench. The younger one was quiet, his solemn black gaze focused as he concentrated on the piece of birchbark in his lap, tracing the charcoal-drawn letters with a small dirty finger. The older one, though he held a worn copybook, was fidgeting, his gaze shooting around the cabin with the intensity of a trapped bird. The boys were dressed alike, in buckskins and moccasins, with winter shirts to ward off the chill outdoors. Both listened to their father as he dictated from a passage in an old reader.

"Nathaniel," the Mohegan addressed his adoptive son suddenly, in English, without looking up. "What was the last sentence?"

The lad's eyes flew back to the book, but he hesitated for a moment. "For if truth be at all within the reach of human capacity..." he ventured, and then faltered.

"Uncas."

His younger son continued, with childish precision if with a lack of natural rhythm, "'Tis certain it must lie very deep and a-b-s-t-r-u-s-e: and to hope we shall arrive at it without pains, while the greatest geniuses have failed with the utmost pains, must certainly be esteemed sufficiently vain and pre--presumptuous."

"Good. What does that mean, Fox?"

Uncas stared at him with big, unblinking eyes. "I don't know, Father."

Chingachgook looked for a moment as if he intended to chastise him, then his face wrinkled slightly and the boys knew he was not angry. "Perhaps you are too young for this, but I have nothing else. Well, it is late and that is enough for today. Go on." He gestured towards the door. Nathaniel leaped up at once, casting his copybook aside, but a glance from his father and he stopped to put it away properly. Uncas fingered his scratched birchbark and the tiny bit of shaved burnt wood that worked as a pencil. He murmured in Mohegan, "I want to do more."

"You said you did not understand it," Chingachgook reminded.

"Nathaniel speaks better than I do. I want to learn it all."

"You must not be jealous of your brother. He was born to it." Chingachgook rose and put the book back on a low shelf, along with Uncas's writing supplies. "When you are grown, you will have both languages. Maybe more. But I am glad you are so eager to communicate, my son. It is a valuable skill, just as important as hunting or waging an honorable battle." He dropped his hand to the boy's head for just a moment, in a rare gesture of affection.

Nathaniel, just outside the cabin, was listening to this exchange. When it fell silent inside, he moved away from the house and went to stand at the edge of the clearing near a cluster of pines. It was nearly night, and the sky was littered with a dusting of stars. The nine-year-old was sensitive enough to be thrilled by its beauty, while at the same time taking it for a matter of fact that everyone must have such a view as this right outside their home. The air was cool and fresh. He inhaled deeply, letting it sweeten his lungs.

Nathaniel knew that Chingachgook thought he didn't remember. He thought the boy had been too young when it happened. But Nathaniel did remember. Wished he could forget, sometimes, though at other times he clung fiercely to the memory of his birth parents, desperately afraid for the day when the memories, dulled by time, would fade altogether. Even bad memories were better than no memory. He had a few things left of them, some books of his father's, a few personal possessions of his mother's...but the things themselves, if he looked at them or touched them long enough, could cause him to invent memories he couldn't be sure were real and not created by his imagination, so he preferred to keep them tucked away.

Sometimes he felt he had plenty in common with Uncas, his little brother. Uncas' mother had died in childbirth and though Chingachgook had had other wives since then, they had stayed away from the cabin. Instead Chingachgook would visit them, sometimes gone for a day or a night at a time, finding them wherever their people had made camp. Nathaniel was too young to realize it fully but he instinctively felt that at least part of the reason that Chingachgook didn't bring women home was because of him, the adopted white child. So Uncas too was motherless, although this had not stopped the child from flourishing. Uncas at seven could run as fast as Nathaniel and climb higher trees. Their father said that Nathaniel's eyes were sharp and Uncas' limbs were strong, but instead of setting them against each other, the Mohegan warrior was always careful to show them how, if they worked together, they could be a formidable pair, ameliorating each other's weaknesses.

The fire crackled from within the cabin, and Nathaniel turned to see the light glowing through small gaps between the logs. Home. He loved it, loved his family deeply, and he could live for days at a time without being reminded of the past, of where he came from. His father and brother did nothing, said nothing, looked nothing to set him apart. It was only now and again that Nathaniel realized it himself. When he caught a glimpse of his face as he knelt over a stream to take a drink, and saw, behind the tangled dark hair and grimy skin, his turquoise eyes. When he picked up one of Chingachgook's English books and felt himself drawn to the language, to the patterns of speech, as if he had heard them all, even the most fanciful turns of phrases, in some other world. He disliked study time not because it was hard for him, but because it was easy. It reminded him too much of his past.


	4. Chapter 4

_1757_

Cora let out a breath of air she'd scarcely realized she'd been holding, and leaned back against the closed door of the cabin, while Alice collapsed on the rough floor.

"It's all right," she said, in little more than a whisper. "It's going to be all right. They will have to help us. He is British."

Alice did not say anything immediately but when she did, she raised dubious eyes to her older sister. "He looked just as savage as that other one. He was wearing their...their clothes."

"At least we have shelter now, Alice. And the Indian didn't harm us." She spotted the fire that Nathaniel had promised on one end of the small cabin, and headed for it eagerly. "Come, let's get dry. My skirts are still damp from yesterday."

"Mine too." Alice pulled herself up, wrestled off her shoes and limped over to the fire. They sank beside it and just basked in its warmth for a few minutes. There was something immensely comforting about fire. Looking into its depths, Cora longed for a cup of hot tea. Though she didn't want to move any more, she also wanted a chance at least to wash her face before the two men came in, as they assuredly would.

Summoning up energy from some hidden source, she rose again, found the basin on a washstand, scrubbed her face and hands, and used the old pitcher to pour new water for Alice to do the same. Still there was their hair, long since down and hanging around their shoulders as it had not done since they were children. There was no way to fix this, however, and she settled for finger-brushing Alice's straight locks, and tying them back with a small strip of cloth torn from the bottom of her already ragged dress. Alice did the same for her, and they regarded each other. Alice was the first to burst into a nervous fit of giggles. "You look like a heathen."

"So do you. What happened to your cap?"

"I think I lost it in the river." Alice pressed a hand over her mouth, horrified at the slightly maniacal tone to her laughter.

Cora gazed at her sister for a moment. "Duncan."

Alice's smile faded. "Cora..."

"He's gone. I know."

"I'm so sorry, Cora." Alice's lip twisted in mournful sympathy. "I wish..."

The door to the cabin opened abruptly and Nathaniel stood there, a forceful presence framed as he was by the white daylight behind him. He looked at Cora and she, looking back at him, saw for just a moment the man he might have looked like had he grown up in England, but then she blinked and the moment passed. He was a frontier man, claiming Indian kin, living as wild a life as any of those people did. She knew nothing about him. Though she had minutes ago assured Alice that they would be helped, she was not herself convinced that this man wanted to give them assistance.

She straightened unconsciously, and without quite realizing that she was doing it, stepped partially in front of her younger sister, whom she knew she had to appear strong for. Nathaniel's lip quirked in the beginnings of a smile.

_He must think we look ridiculous, not like any decent Englishwomen, but let him laugh if he will. We have just survived a terrible encounter. If he dares to say something..._

But Nathaniel only said, and quite courteously, "You must be hungry. And thirsty? I'll wager Uncas didn't have any decent provisions on him when he found you. I'll make you some tea."

"Tea would be wonderful," Cora said, feeling the stiffness melt out of her spine at the suggestion. She watched with eager eyes as Nathaniel rummaged around in what seemed to be a tiny adjoining kitchen, and thereafter prepared some water in a tin kettle to steam over the fire. He went outdoors and came back in with a handful of leaves, which he threw in the kettle, and presently a wonderful smell began to permeate the cabin.

While the tea was brewing, Nathaniel produced some yams from a pot that rested on the hearth, keeping warm, and gave a couple apiece to Cora and Alice. He did not bother with plates or utensils, but as with their dinner of the night before, neither girl had any qualms about taking the food and quickly downed these offerings. The tea, when it came, was bitter and murky and had bits of leaves swirling around the bottom of the cup, but they drank it gratefully too. Cora was just swallowing her last mouthful of golden yam when the cabin door in and Uncas came in, his arrival rather sheepish and hesitant in comparison to Nathaniel's uncompromising entrance of some minutes before.

The brothers exchanged a look and Uncas said something in Mohegan, to which Nathaniel grunted. There was a moment of awkward silence and then Nathaniel said, "He needs to get some sleep."

"Oh. Of course." Cora looked chagrined at Alice. Of course he did, he had been standing guard over them all night. Even Alice had the grace to look slightly ashamed. "Should we go out?" She had no desire to leave the warm fireside.

"No," Uncas said. "It's fine." In the opposite corner, he pulled down a dried deerskin, one of many that was hung over a rack against the wall, laid it down on the floor, and with no further ceremony, laid down on it, ignoring the rest of them. Within moments, his breathing was gentle and even.

Nathaniel looked amused. "He won't sleep for long."

Neither Cora nor Alice could imagine anyone choosing to sleep on the floor, but it did not seem as though they owned beds, and Uncas did look, oddly, comfortable. For a moment they both watched him, fascinated, then Cora said "Alice," sharply, and tore her own eyes away. She forced herself to speak to Nathaniel. "If you tell me where to get it from, I can make myself more tea."

"I'll show you." Nathaniel started for the door, evidently expecting her to follow. When she glanced back at Alice for a moment, her little sister uttered a mute "Stay," with her eyes. Cora looked back at Nathaniel, whose own gaze clearly, unequivocally read that he thought she would have to leave her sooner or later and now was the perfect time.

"We'll just be outside, Alice." She followed Nathaniel through the door, pulling it shut behind her. After all, Uncas was sleeping, and she did want a few moments of conversation with this frontier man, to have a private chance to be able to assess his character and judgement without any other distractions.

Outside, Nathaniel led her to a straggling garden plot off to the side of the cabin, sheltered on the other side from wind by a small group of shrubs. It was not very big. Cora's expression must have registered this, because Nathaniel said, "We're not really farmers." But he did not sound apologetic. Reaching down to pull away some vines and creepers, he plucked a handful of leaves from a row of dark flowering plants. "This is the tea. It's stronger if it's been dried first, but it doesn't have to be." He turned, holding out his hands for her to take it.

"Nathaniel--as I don't know your last name, may I address you so?" Cora accepted the leaves.

"Of course." He crouched down by the garden and began pulling away some of the overgrowth. Cora took this opportunity to size him up more closely. He was tall, leaner than his Indian brother, with a sharp nose and high forehead. He looked very wild. She wondered just how, if at all, familiar he was with English customs. He looked to have lived out here in the forest his entire life. She wanted to know the story behind that, but did not think it was likely he would be volunteering it any time soon, and she could scarcely ask.

She was startled when he suddenly looked back up, bearing the force of those oddly blue, uncompromising eyes on her. "So. Miss Munro."

"Cora, please. If I'm to call you Nathaniel."

He ignored this and went on, "Tell me more about your situation. What party were you with? Where were you going, who were your guides?"

She found herself strangely unprepared for the question and had to think for a moment before replying. "We were on our way to Fort Oswego, where our father is currently stationed. We were traveling under the protection of Major Duncan Hayward, of his Majesty's army. Yesterday afternoon our party of ten was ambushed."

"Your father sent for you?"

"That is correct."

Nathaniel plucked off a dead bean from the plant bearing it and crushed it thoughtfully between thumb and finger. "Oswego is under French attack at the moment. Why would he want you to be in the middle of such a situation?"

"I was not aware it was under attack." Cora heard her voice trembling and took a deep breath which she hoped would be calming.

Nathaniel looked back at her again. "What happened to Hayward?"

"I must assume he fell with the rest of them. They came upon us quite...suddenly. We were unprepared."

Nathaniel grunted. Whether this was intended to be sympathetic or a mere indication of understanding Cora could not tell. She was staring at the trees beyond him in a vain attempt at focusing her emotions.

"I don't suppose you noticed anything about your attackers."

"What do you mean?"

"Iroquois, Huron, Mohawk..."

"They were half-naked and screaming like madmen." Cora glared at him. "I do not know how long you have been away from England, but we women are not in the custom of studying the quirks and identifying characteristics of indigenous tribes of the Americas."

"Right," Nathaniel said wearily, choosing to ignore her unspoken question about his being here. "Better to worry your heads over what color of ribbon would be best to trim your caps with."

"That is unfair. I think of nothing, nor do I want for anything but the safety of myself and my sister." She turned away, trembling with anger, partly because there was some truth to what Nathaniel said, but honestly, did he really think she would be able to tell the difference between one savage or another?

"Wait." Nathaniel stood up, brushing soil off his knees. "You should know that it's very odd you managed to get away. Whoever was responsible, they're all good trackers and none of them fools. Which means there's a reason you weren't followed. It's my belief that taking you to the fort at this point would be a mistake."

"But there is nowhere else to go." Cora felt the leaves dampening and curling in her hands, which were beginning to sweat in the sun.

"There's always somewhere to go," Nathaniel replied cryptically. "But Uncas thinks we should go to the fort and that we can get you there safely. It's up to you."

"I just need for Alice to be safe. I'm not worried about myself." She faced him defiantly lest he sneer at these rather martyrical words. It was the truth, after all, even if he thought she was being ridiculous. But his expression was unreadable.

"How old is she, fifteen?"

"Sixteen this coming winter. She's still a child."

"You can't be much older than that."

She flushed. "I'm no child, sir, I've been nineteen since the spring."

"Hm. Same as my little brother."

"May I ask how old _you_ are?"

"Soon be twenty-one." He smiled, having established his seniority, but then turned serious again. "Before we decide on anything else, I'll have to go back to the location of the ambush. It's the only way to know who was responsible for the attack."

For a moment she did not say anything, but then she forced herself to ask what she was wondering. "Would...would it be possible to recover some of the...bodies?"

Nathaniel gave her a keen look. "No," he said. "It will not be possible."

Cora nodded in mute understanding, pressing her lips together.

He continued to regard her, thoughtfully. "Who was Hayward?"

She had forgotten about the leaves she was still holding and as her fingers constricted and expanded automatically, they spilled to the ground in little circular patterns. "He was my fiancé."


	5. Chapter 5

Nathaniel could think of nothing to say after Cora's revelation about Hayward. Though he had suspected it might be something of that nature, he was still at a loss for words. He just looked at her. He had a slight distaste for his countrywomen in general and an irritation for this one and her sister in particular since the moment of meeting them, but he was not naturally unkind, and her downcast eyes, combined with her trembling hands, did stir some small atom of pity in him. He knew what loss was like, after all, had seen it firsthand. And was seeing it again, and would continue to see it. But it was never easy to watch.

He realized the expected response would be for him to express his sympathies and move on. But he still found himself wordless as he watched the tea leaves he'd given her scatter on the ground, spun around by the slight wind that also tugged at Cora's skirts.

After an indeterminate period of time, during which neither of them spoke, he moved past her in the direction of the cabin. Cora turned after him. "Where are you going?"

"I can be back by midday if I leave now," he answered, without glancing back.

Grimly, he set about preparations. There wasn't much to put together, as he was in a constant state of readiness; his rifle, Killdeer, hunting knife, and small bag of related supplies. He put on a heavier pair of moccasins than the ones he usually wore around the cabin, and changed his hunting shirt because the current one was sweat-stained and would attract bugs. He usually wore his long hair loose, or with loose with a few braids the way Uncas did, but now he tied it all back at the nape of his neck.

Cora was waiting outside in front of the cabin when he came out. She looked tired but seemed to have gotten control of her emotions. She was smoothing down the front of her stained dress with her hands. Her hair was a dusky tangle of curls. "Perhaps I should come with you."

"No."

"I know I will slow you down but..."

"Miss--" he spoke over her but she raised her voice.

"I need to know."

"No, you don't need to know. _I_ will know." He tried to sound soothing and not irritated, but was not quite successful. "You can't come. Seeing it will make it worse, not better, despite what you may think. Stay in the cabin with your sister, bolt the door and if you hear anything outside, wake Uncas. Do you hear me?"

She nodded, and, thankfully, didn't look like she was sulking about it.

"Right." Nathaniel gave her a last hard glance and loped out of the clearing, instantly picking up the trail that his brother had come in on earlier than morning.

He was a good tracker, having been made so under Chingachgook's tutelage, though he was known more for his accuracy with a rifle than he was for his tracking skills. Even a poor tracker, at any rate, would have been able to follow the plodding path left by the two girls. Nathaniel reflected that they were going to have a hell of a hard time just getting the girls safely to the fort, much less getting them inside it. He wondered why Uncas held such a positive view of their chances. He wished his adoptive father was back already so they could get his opinion on the matter.

Nathaniel moved at a pace set somewhere between a fast walk and a run most of the journey, wanting daylight to be on his side as much as possible. By midmorning, he had reached the river, but after that, it took him some time, tracking upriver, to re-connect with Cora and Alice's path. There was no evidence that they had been followed, although that didn't necessarily mean that they hadn't been.

The scene of the ambush was familiar and sobering. To the side of a long slope, there was a grassy fielded area that was bordered on one side by thick woods, which would have been where the attackers had concealed themselves. The yellowing grasses were stained with blood in places as Nathaniel passed through, examining everything. Whatever rifles or armament the men might have had, none remained now; nothing but bodies. There were also horse hoofprints scattered about.

It was as he had thought. The men had been scalped, and it looked like by Huron, which meant that they were probably intending to get bounties paid for those scalps by the French. Nathaniel didn't find the scalping for bounty to be particularly gruesome--the British did the same thing, as had some colonial frontiersmen of his acquaintance. And the men were already dead, and had been dead when it had occurred. Still, for Cora's sake he'd rather hoped he would have been able to tell her that the bodies had been untouched.

Of course, he could always lie...

He stooped down by one of the men for a moment, gazing at the blank bloodied face, with its pallor of death upon it. A handsome face, or might have been while its owner was still living. Nathaniel moved on, looking for Hayward. Based on his uniform it would be easy enough to identify him.

Hayward's body had fallen, or been dumped, near the treeline. Based on its position and proximity to the shelter of the forest Nathaniel spent an uncharitable moment wondering if perhaps he'd thought he could outrun the attackers rather than stay to fight.

He contemplated the fiance of Miss Cora Munro for a long while. "I guess," he said aloud, "I should promise you I'll get her to safety. That would be the honorable thing to do." _I'll try, but more than that I can't say...Poor fool_. Hayward had been about his age, maybe a little older. Light-haired, lean. Tall. A likely enough fellow. He fingered the lapel of the blotched uniform, then withdrew his knife from his belt and cut off the bit of collar that bore the insignia.

The sun was climbing high, and it was time to get back. He took a drink from his water flask, made one last circle of the area, but could find nothing else of note. Rotating his neck and stretching, he resumed his loping pace and headed back down the hillside in the direction of the river. The wind was picking up and it was welcoming, blowing the smell of death out of his nostrils. He gave his head a shake and focused himself towards the journey home.

***

Alice was sitting so close to the fire that her skirts had little tendrils of steam curling upwards from them as they absorbed the heat. She hugged her knees. She was very tired, so tired that she felt herself nodding off as she looked into the mesmerizing fire. It had been difficult to get any kind of restorative sleep last night. Fearfully, she looked over at the young Indian, but he was still sleeping, one arm tossed out. All she could really see from her vantage point was a spill of black hair, some of which had colored twine and a few small braids woven into it, and his upper body, which, unlike those of their attackers, was at least decently clothed, thank goodness.

She was still in shock that he had spoken English. And she could hardly believe that Cora had decided to trust him enough to let him bring them here. Granted, they had been unarmed, and he might have killed them if they had tried to resist. Some uneasy part of her knew that this was probably unlikely, and that this particular Indian, along with the white frontierman Nathaniel, were not complete savages--even if they looked like them--but it was hard for her to accept the notion that they were fully safe with them. Cora seemed to believe that they were. Unless Cora thought they didn't have any other choice. And it was true, it was good to be within four solid walls again and have a fire to sit by, and tea to drink. More than good. It was wonderful compared to what they'd been through. But she still wished they were already at the fort and that none of this had ever happened....

With only a very vague sense of time passing she sat there, soaking in the heat, her head resting on her crossed arms and knees. She thought to wonder why Cora had not come back in and raised her head to look around. Just as she did, she became aware that Uncas--she made herself think of him by his name with an effort--had awoken. Startled to find his eyes on her, she scuttled back a bit against the wall, hoping he wouldn't speak. The cabin suddenly seemed very small.

"Alice," he said, in a tone of faint inquiry. He accented her name just slightly differently from the way she was used to hearing it pronounced, putting equal stress on the syllables. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am fine, thank you," she said, but her voice wouldn't go much above a whisper. Where was Cora?

Uncas watched her for a few moments without saying anything. Alice tried to do the same, lest he think she was scared of him, but she could not maintain the exchange and dropped her eyes. She had been taught not to stare, but clearly he hadn't. She played nervously with the tattered edge of her skirts.

"And your sister?"

"She's outside--I think."

Uncas rose in a lithe movement. He appeared to have thrown off sleep as easily as someone else might have thrown off a blanket. Crossing over to the cabin's one hand-cut window, which was covered by a wooden board, he slid it open an inch and looked out. Early evening sunshine flooded in the cabin for a moment, until he shut it again and moved instead to the front door. Alice followed him, keeping a respectful distance.

Cora was indeed outside, sitting not far from the cabin on a large flat stone around which some wildflowers had grown, making a pretty picture despite her somber face and general dishevelment. She stood up when she saw Uncas come out of the cabin, Alice behind him. Alice darted past their Indian guide and went to her sister, taking her hands. Cora squeezed them encouragingly, looking into her face.

"You shouldn't be out here now," Uncas said, making a quick scan of the perimeter.

"I'm waiting for Nathaniel."

"He went back?"

Cora nodded. Uncas hesitated, then disappeared within and returned with his rifle, which he brought over to them. "I guess neither of you knows how to use one of these?"

Alice eyed it. It seemed almost as long as she was. She waited for Cora to answer.

"No," Cora admitted, finally.

"Better ask my brother to show you when he has a moment, before we take you to the fort."

"I don't know that he would. He doesn't seem to want to help us."

Uncas looked surprised. "Why wouldn't he?"

Whatever Cora might have answered, Alice didn't have a chance to know because it was at that moment that this subject of their conversation himself appeared from among the trees, slightly dirt-streaked and grim, but not looking over-exerted.

He stopped in the shed first to unload his weapons, then came towards them. Uncas and Nathaniel held a brief conclave in their shared language, while Alice and Cora looked on. Alice did not understand any of what they were saying, of course, but at one point Uncas glanced in her direction and she was sure he had just said something in reference to her.

She turned to Cora, whispering, "Are they going to take us to Father?"

"I think so," her sister murmured. "Don't worry, Alice. They're not fighting about it, just trying to decide how and when." She said this with such confidence that Alice didn't think to doubt her.

"But there are only two of them. And we had many with us..." her voice trailed away as she became aware that Nathaniel and Uncas had stopped speaking and both of them were looking at her, Nathaniel with a curiously hard expression.

"Your fiance was unprepared," Nathaniel said. He held out his hand towards Cora and for a moment she didn't react, but when she realized he had something in it she very slowly put out her own hand. Nathaniel's fingers uncurled and let the small piece of cloth that bore Duncan Hayward's insignia unfold into Cora's palm.

Uncas looked uncomfortable, but Nathaniel's face, whatever he might be thinking or feeling, showed neither pity nor concern. Meeting Alice's gaze, he jerked his head towards the cabin, indicating, as they already understood, that Cora might want at least a few moments alone at this point. Alice, releasing her sister's hand and standing anxiously for a moment, hesitated, but Cora did not look up from her other hand that still held the bit of fabric. At last Alice followed Uncas and Nathaniel back to the cabin, glancing back as she went. Cora's dark bent head against her white flame of a dress stood out like a beacon in the dying evening light.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: These should be the last flashbacks; from now on the main narrative will continue (1757.)_

_1756_

Upstairs, on the second floor of the family's country home, the dressing room was a flurry of activity, with several maids gathered around the older daughter of the house making last-minute adjustments to her ball gown. It was of malachite satin, the vivid color bringing out the darkness of her elaborately curled and piled hair, with huge hoops and a long trailing sack train in back. Cora examined herself from several angles in the small burnished mirror. She was not now nor had she ever been especially vain, and indeed had little patience for those young women of her acquaintance who were, but tonight was an important occasion. Her father was giving this private ball essentially in her honor, and it was to be the opportunity for her to meet and dance with the soldier he had personally groomed to be her future husband.

"You look beautiful, Cora," Alice said, no envy but honest admiration in her voice. She was in undress, and was not to be attending the party tonight, but would have to hear about it later once the guests had gone home. Reaching out, she touched one of the cascading ribbons that were sewn into the bodice of the gown and fell from there almost to the floor. "How much do you think this gown cost?"

"Too much," Cora said, a little ruefully, thinking of the imported materials and the hours that must have been spent sewing it. "But Father said it was important to look my best tonight, and I will only have my own dance once. I hope I don't step on this train." She gathered some of the fabric up behind her and tried to determine how she was going to move about gracefully with such a thing trailing behind her. But the sack dress was the very latest fashion and society dictated that she, as the oldest daughter of a man whose position in that society was firmly established, follow the fashions, even if she personally preferred simpler styles of dresses.

"I wish I could come down and see you."

Cora glanced at her young sister's wistful face and spared her a smile, thinking it was quite possible that Alice did not yet realize that this was the beginning of their separation, that once she was engaged to Duncan Hayward it would only be a matter of time, perhaps another year, until they would have to learn to live apart. "Soon you will have your own such party."

"Not for three more years." Alice sighed at the magnitude of the wait she must endure. "You will tell me what the others were wearing, won't you?"

"I will tell you absolutely everything." Cora grinned at the younger girl and cast one last glance back in the mirror to ensure everything looked just right. The maids stepped away, admiring. One handed her her fan and gloves, which she put on, and then she blew a quick kiss in Alice's direction and stepped out of the room.

Their father met her on the landing and escorted her down the rest of the stairs, then through the passageway and down the hall in the direction of the ballroom. The brightly lit ballroom, after the comparative dimness of her dressing room, almost hurt her eyes with its brilliance. And such a feast of colors and fabrics! Cora hesitated, self-consciously, but began to make her greetings to the people nearest her. Her friends, and their mothers. Once the dancing began, she sat out the first few dances, not wanting to seem to appear too proud.

Her father sought her out again after the first hour. "Cora," he gestured. "It's time to meet Duncan."

She followed him over to the soldier to whom she was all but engaged. He was tall, splendidly outfitted in his soldier's red uniform with its elaborate braiding and trimming. Instantly she was thankful that, if he was not necessarily handsome, he was not bad-looking, either, and then chastised herself silently for this bit of irreverence. What mattered a husband's face and figure, if he were a God-fearing man who would work hard to keep his family fed and happy?

Munro made the necessary formal introductions and Cora curtsied, hiding behind her fan before she realized that he might mistake genuine shyness for coquetry. When Munro, discreetly, left the two of them standing there, off to the side in the middle of the huge room, she turned to Hayward and took as deep a breath as her stays would allow. "Good evening, sir."

"It's my pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Munro." He bowed, again, and smiled. She suddenly realized he was nervous too, and felt much better. "Might I bring you some..." he looked around, realized they were quite near the tables of refreshments and indicated the pitchers of sweet wine and punch.

"Please." She dipped into a curtsy again, hoping she looked elegant. It was very warm in the room, or seemed that way, but perhaps it was only her many layers of clothing. She fanned herself and tried not to shift. The shoes she was wearing were new, had a curved heel and were wickedly uncomfortable.

Duncan was back almost immediately with a tiny cup of punch, which Cora took and drank in one gulp before realizing that she knew perfectly well she was supposed to sip demurely at. But she _had _been thirsty. Duncan didn't looked shocked, just amused.

"I hear you have a younger sister," he said, politely. "Is she not to be here this evening?"

"Yes. Father thought it best if she rested tonight."

"I see. Miss Munro...."

"Yes, Major General."

"I think you are overheated. Perhaps we might take a stroll around the terrace? "

"That," Cora said, with a small inner sigh of relief, "would be perfect."

_***_

_1740_

The child lay with his face flat against the wooden floorboards, the sound of his breathing rasping in his ears. Acrid smoke was starting to creep across the floor; he could see it when he squinted out past the bedframe he was under. It stung in his nostrils, but he was terrified to move. He whimpered, sensing he was alone, but also sensing that he could not remain where he was for much longer. The crackling was increasing. Soon it would be roaring. He was already very familiar with fire, had been taught not to get too close to it, had seen the huge flames that his daddy sometimes built up when they had a bonfire outside...but this was in the house. There shouldn't be huge flames in the house, that was dangerous.

He inched forwards on his belly, trying to make it out from underneath the low bed frame. He was not stuck, but he couldn't seem to make his limbs move any faster than a bit at a time. A piece of wood splintered off from the floor and grazed his cheek. He chewed down on his lip against the pain.

The crackling was growing still louder, and the smoke weaving its way across to him. Nathaniel peered out, seeing the front door of the cabin wide open, banging in the wind. There was a fierce wind. It howled outdoors.

He heard a shout, but it had no meaning. He meant to squirm backwards then, but he was frozen in place. Just as the sound of falling timber crashed in his ears, he saw two moccasins appear in his sight and a tall copper-skinned figure hauled him out and up from under the bed. There was a moment while they stared at each other, the dirty white child just out of toddlerhood and the young Indian man. Then he was being carried, in a most undignified way, tucked under an arm that felt like warm iron as if he were a log of wood, bouncing as the man ran with him, out of the collapsing cabin and into the darkening woods. Nathaniel tried to look back, to catch one last glimpse of his home before it disappeared but he could not twist his head that far around, and the Indian carrying him had no intentions of pausing. He ducked his head to avoid being slapped by branches as they passed and swallowed against the terror in his throat.

Much later, when the Indian's pace had slowed to a gentle walk and the boy had long since passed out in exhaustion against his rescuer's shoulder, his hands slackened and the Indian noticed something shiny fall to the ground. Stooping, still carrying the boy, he stopped to examine it. A grooming implement of some kind, a palm-sized square with teeth on either side. Turning the boy's limp palm over, Chingachgook saw the imprint the article had made in the boy's flesh, so tightly he had been gripping it. The Indian picked up the comb and put it back into the child's hand, pressing the cold fingers around it and holding them there, for the rest of the journey.

_***_

_1757_

Uncas set a rough trencher--really just a flat and slightly hollowed piece of wood--down on the table in front of Alice and added a mug of more tea. He, like the rest of his people, never drank tea except for medicinal purposes on the rare occasions when they were sick, but Nathaniel had explained to him how crazy the English were about their tea as a daily drink. Apparently, it was unaffordably expensive for the majority of British and it was even common for people to dry and re-use tea leaves more than once. He found this hard to believe, since sources of tea were everywhere here. Perhaps the English simply weren't aware of all the varied plants that could be used for tea making.

Alice bobbed her head in a gesture of shy thanks. She had such big eyes when she looked at him, like a child, he thought, amused. There was something sweet about her, just like there was something hard about Cora. Not that a woman who had just lost her mate did not have the right to be hard. It was in clear contrast to his own people's women, many of whom had seen loss, but they did not direct their emotions internally. Grief was a public emotion, something which was to be shared with those close to you.

Nathaniel was leaning by the fireplace sharpening a piece of flint. "Come and eat," Uncas said, passing by him as he stooped to retrieve some of last year's maize from its pot in the coals where it had been cooking. When Nathaniel didn't move, Uncas added in Mohegan, standing up, "And go tell the girl to come in and eat, too."

His brother gave him a sharp look. "Why--"

"My hands are full, Brother." Uncas raised an eyebrow at him and headed back to the table.

Nathaniel uttered an expletive but, after a minute, laid his work on top of the mantel and pushed himself away from the stonework, going out the front door.

Uncas sat down opposite Alice. He, Nathaniel and Chingachgook usually crouched by the fireplace to eat, as mealtimes were more a business of giving nutrition to one's body for energy than they were a social affair, but he had realized that as long as these women were with them they were going to have to at least attempt some of the customs they were used to. But cut wood made quick and fine stools and he had placed a plank over two of them on Alice's side to make a bench for her and her sister.

Cora came in, her eyes hooded and cheeks flushed, followed by Nathaniel, who was wearing an expression of reluctant forbearance. She sat down beside Alice and folded her hands in her lap, but did not look interested at the prospect of food. Alice touched her sister's elbow, timidly, which earned her a brief, strained smile.

For a moment all four of them sat there, each one suddenly acutely aware of their differences in background and upbringing, yet sitting around the same small table, in the middle of the woods, in a country that was in an ongoing war.

Then Uncas, who was hungry and was slightly baffled as to what the rest of them were just sitting there for, reached out for a handful of maize kernels from the bowl, which he had just assumed was communal. He paused the motion of his hand when he saw the shocked look on Alice's face, and the only slightly disapproving one on Cora's.

"Younger brother," Nathaniel said in Mohegan, "you may be _le cerf agile_--" the French said slightly mockingly in imitation of their enemy's nickname for Uncas, who was known throughout the woods for his speed and strength-- "but you have the table manners of a drunken bison."

Uncas hesitated, then decided that eating what was already in his hand would still be preferable to putting it back into the bowl. He gave Nathaniel a nonchalant stare as he did so.

"Do you not say grace?" Cora asked. Her dull tone suggested she had already decided that she was not intending to be shocked by anything else that could happen today.

"Certainly we do." Nathaniel took this opportunity to elbow his brother and, clearing his throat, stood up at the head of the table. He rattled through a very proper if mechanically delivered blessing for the food, then reseated himself and looked expectantly at Cora and Alice. "Now you may eat."

There was corn, and yams, and a little jerky, though their supply of that was rapidly dwindling hence the reason Uncas knew Chingachgook would not come back empty-handed. Neither of the girls seemed to have much appetite.

By the time the meal was almost over, darkness had fallen outside. The firelight provided just enough light to see by, but Uncas lit their one lantern anyway to banish the shadows from the corners of the cabin. Cora and Alice retired to the fireside to sit and digest what little they had eaten. Uncas turned to Nathaniel, asking in an undertone, "Where are they going to sleep?"

"On the floor, where else?"

Uncas gazed doubtfully at the girls. Even more so taken together, rather than separately, they seemed incredibly out of place in the small frontier cabin. Everything about them. Their odd clothes, pale skin, way of moving...

"They slept in the forest last night, didn't they? You watched them sleep, didn't you?" Nathaniel challenged. But he followed Uncas to the rack of furs and pelts, and selected several of the finest ones: last winter's bear, a couple of golden-tipped wolf pelts that had been sewn together. He approached the girls, and busied himself, as they moved out of the way, with preparing a bed on the ground near the fire and against the wall. While Uncas banked the coals for the night, Nathaniel disappeared into the storage room for a few moments and came back out, slowly, approaching Cora with some folded material in his hands. "Here."

She took the bundle. As it unwrapped in her lap, they could see it was a colorful handmade quilt, and though the colors had faded where certain parts of the blanket had been exposed, it looked to have been virtually unused. Alice scooted in next to the wall on the furs, and Cora carefully laid the blanket over her. She looked up at Nathaniel. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." His mouth softened when he looked at Alice curling up like a puppy under the blanket. "One more thing."

He put something else into her hands. Cora looked down to see a small decorative tortoiseshell comb.

Her face registering surprise, she looked up once more.

"It was my mother's," Nathaniel said. "It might as well be used again." He turned before she could thank him again and, heading over to the rack of furs, began to make his own bed, on the other side of the cabin. Uncas, after a few more minutes, extinguished the lamp, and soon the only illumination in the room was the glowing coals in the fireplace, and the only sounds, the occasional crackle they made.


	7. Chapter 7

Alice screamed.

She had woken up just a few minutes earlier and, struggling to a sitting position in the dim morning light of the cabin, had seen the front door of the cabin open and a savage standing there, half-naked, blood dripping over his shoulders. Uncas and Nathaniel almost simultaneously exploded out of sleep into action, hands on knives that never seemed to be too far from their bodies, but then Uncas grunted in disgust or relief.

"It's Father," Nathaniel said, running a hand over his face.

By the time explanations and introductions had been made all round, Alice's heart had finally started to slow down, though she couldn't stop staring at Chingachgook, who to her eyes looked as foreign as the Huron who had ambushed them. He had an earring in his left ear, as did Uncas, but Chingachgook's was larger. He had plenty of long dark hair, too, but most of it was gathered into a scalping tuft and had many more feathers and twine braided into it. He was shorter and stockier than his sons, and his face had the set heaviness of middle age.

Cora and Alice came outside to watch the three men prepare the carcass of the deer that had been responsible for the blood all over Chingachgook's shoulders. It was a gory process that the men made quick, efficient work of. As they worked, the men talked amongst themselves in Mohegan. Chingachgook did not appear to be overly put out by the presence of the strange white women in his cabin, but conversed in a low, calm voice, interrogative and reasonable by turns. Alice knew Uncas and Nathaniel were telling the story of how they had come to be there because at several points she heard the words "Munro", Oswego", and "Hayward" although at this mention, Cora tried to seem like she wasn't paying attention.

Chingachgook wiped his knife on his deerskin leggings, the knees of which were soaked with blood. He sat back on his haunches, contemplating the cabin, and the women sitting out front, for a few moments. "Dark-hair," he addressed Cora. "Can your safety at the fort be guaranteed?"

"It must be, more so than it is here," Cora returned. "And I would not wish to...to endanger your family by our presence any longer than absolutely necessary."

Chingachgook exchanged a look with his two sons. "You have your sister to consider," he pointed out. "It may be that the passage of time here will reduce the potential danger that awaits any whites who try to make their way into the fort."

"We can't stay here, Cora," Alice urged in a whisper, because after Cora's silence she felt that the other woman was actually considering the Indian's suggestion. "Father must think we are dead. We--"

"Alice, please." Cora addressed Chingachgook. "As you say, that may be true. But I think we must press on, if we may have the gift of your guidance along the way. We are utterly dependent upon it."

"It'll take some time," Nathaniel reminded her.

"We have time," Cora said.

_We have nothing_ but_ time,_ Alice thought. _And the dresses on our backs_.

Chingachgook considered for a few more moments without speaking. "Tomorrow," he said. "My sons will take you to the fort."

"Will you not come, Father?" Uncas asked.

"I think not. There is no better runner than you, Uncas, and no better shot than your brother. Together, you will be able to bring these women back to where they belong." Chingachgook rose, putting an end to the discussion.

For the midday meal, there was plenty of fresh deer meat. Then the men spent the afternoon readying their supplies for the journey of indeterminate length that was to take place on the morrow. Each of them had a deerskin pack that could be slung over the shoulders and fit to the exact proportions of the wearer. Into these sacks, they put ammunition for their rifles, layer after layer of jerky, and various other small tools and supplies that Cora and Alice were unfamiliar with and did not bother to question the purpose of.

Cora was using the comb that Nathaniel had given her to comb out Alice's hair. "Alice," she said. "I think I should braid it while we travel."

"Like they do?" Alice said, shocked at this departure from style. An Englishwoman's hair was always curled if possible and put up under a cap or a hat. Naturally they had lost their caps and had no pins to keep it up, but the idea that they braid it like she had seen pictures of Indian women doing was outlandish.

"It will keep it out of our way," Cora said firmly. She divided Alice's long blond hair into two equal sections and began braiding it. It actually looked rather charming when she was finished, if it made Alice look younger. She tied it back with two bits of twine and then took her own place in front of her sister. Alice sighed. "Cora, your hair will take much longer to do. It's hopelessly tangled."

"Just go slowly." Cora set her teeth as the comb tugged through her curls.

While Alice was still working on her hair, at one point, after a small consultation with his brother and father, Nathaniel came over to the women, obviously reluctantly but it was clear he had been appointed the messenger of whatever decision they had concluded by their meeting. "Ahem. Misses Munro. I have to ask you a rather delicate question."

"Yes," Cora said, thinking she should probably dread whatever he was about to ask but in actuality was relieved to have something put to her that only she could answer.

"Your dresses." Nathaniel gestured at their outfits, which, while the most serviceable and least embellished of all the things they had brought in their trunks from England with them--the trunks were still back in Albany--were still utterly impractical for woodland travel. They were plain oat-colored muslin frocks, with three-quarter length sleeves, slight hoops, and a bodice. "Are you wearing hoops under all that material?"

It was not so much the mention of hoops as it was the mention of it being under that caused Alice's gasp of dismay and Cora's slight reddening. "Yes," she said defiantly. "No well-bred lady goes without hoops."

"I beg your pardon," Nathaniel said with exaggerated courtesy. "I was not trying to insult you, but rather to point out that they are doubtless restricting your movement and should be removed before we set out tomorrow."

"That would be fine," she said, determined not to be shocked, "but then you must remove yourselves from the cabin so that we may have the privacy necessary to alter our clothes."

Nathaniel bowed, and in an odd way it pained her, reminding her fleetingly of Duncan. "Then we will return in a few hours. Is there anything else you ladies require before we make good our escape?" He was deliberately using more elaborate speech constructions, perhaps in imitation of her.

"Water," Cora said after a moment of thought. "We should like to wash before tomorrow."

"Certainly." Nathaniel withdrew.

He was back before very long with Uncas; between the two of them they were bearing a wooden tub filled to the brim with water. "It's from the stream, so it's not warm," Nathaniel pointed out, "but leave it by the fire for a while and it should be at least tolerable to sit in."

Alice was amazed that they even had a tub. Not that they looked dirty. She wondered if, to keep clean, they went swimming in lakes and rivers the way Cora had when she was younger. The thought of adults doing this seemed highly inappropriate to her. Immersing one's whole self into a natural body of water? What if someone happened by? She was grateful for the tub. Even though back home they didn't wash their whole bodies more than once a week anyway, there was something about living in the woods like this that made one feel like she could never be clean enough.

The men departed, and Cora, after bolting the door after them and ensuring that the window hadn't been left open, helped Alice to undress. Alice in turn helped her with her stays. Under the gowns they wore petticoats, and under the petticoats, their innermost layer of underwear--the shifts. The shifts were a last refuge of decency that they had no intention of taking off, even to bathe. Alice climbed into the tub first and crouched in it, squeaking at the cold, but Nathaniel had been right--it was warm outdoors, and next to the fire, the water temperature was tolerable. It wasn't relaxing, but it was enough to get clean by.

While Alice washed, Cora set about dismantling the inner layer of skirt that had the whalebone and metal sewn into it which formed the shape of their gowns from the waist down. Without it, their gowns would hang limp around their legs, but would probably be more comfortable for sitting and lying down at night. Once Alice was finished, Cora took her turn. Their hair would have to be washed some other time--right now in braids it was manageable, which was the most important thing.

They spent some time in their shifts in front of the fire, drying up. The shifts were thin and dried quickly, so they could then put their overdresses back on.

"That's better," Alice said when they were both fully dressed and examining each other's altered states.

"It doesn't look better. Turn around, Alice."

Alice turned obediently. Usually their skirts swirled around them when they did this but now the layers of fabric just hung from her hips. "It's scandalous how much you can see of your shape now," Cora remonstrated.

Alice giggled despite herself. "You look funny too. Like a pauper or a..."

"Alice! Mind your manners." Cora smoothed down the pleats on the front of her skirt. It was odd feeling the sides of the dress follow her movement, but they would have to get used to it. "Well. We are ready."

Sobering, Alice looked at her sister's dark determined eyes. "Are you glad to be going tomorrow?"

"I'm a little scared," Cora confessed in an unusual moment of frankness.

"So am I. I just want to find Father and be safe at the fort."

"I want that too." They hugged briefly.

"Cora, do you think we can trust them?" Alice pulled away.

Her older sister considered her answer for some time. "I think we have to, Alice."

_***_

Chingachgook was throwing leftover skin and various bits of refuse from the deer carcass onto a fire outside when Uncas joined him. Evening had settled in, and the fire pit, which was within sight of the cabin, was something they often used for this purpose or for when they wanted to sit outdoors at night.

"Was it a good hunt, _Nohsh_?"

"There were many tracks around," Chingachgook replied. "You will need to be alert tomorrow." His voice held an extra dose of caution. Uncas glanced at his father, but the older Indian's face was inscrutable as usual.

"There are no better eyes than Nathaniel's." Uncas picked up some of the discarded bits that lay in a pile at Chingachgook's feet and tossed them into the pit. Fat sizzled in the flames.

"I would not have let you go alone. Take care, my son. The eyes of the French are everywhere, and the Huron are many and deceitful. It will not be an easy journey."

Soft moccasin footfalls came from behind them, and Nathaniel joined his father and younger brother to stand in front of the flames, which lit up the dark night.

"Are the women settled?"

"If women can ever be settled."

The three shared a mutual chuckle. "You should also be sleeping," Chingachgook advised.

"I'm not tired," Nathaniel said, automatically, and smiled. It was almost a private joke between him and his adopted father. He didn't remember, but Chingachgook insisted these were the first three words he had ever heard him say. Chingachgook looked at him and rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment. The light of the fire danced on his face and brought out some heavy lines near his eyes. "Keep your brother safe. And don't expect too much from the Yengeese. They are a breed apart. Do not push them too hard until you know what they are made of."

"Yes, Father." Nathaniel exchanged looks with Uncas. They were both torn between affection for the older man and amusement that he still, sometimes, seemed to look at them and see the boys they had been.

"I will keep watch by the fire tonight," Chingachgook said. "Go in to the cabin and sleep."

They echoed their understanding with Mohegan grunts of assent and left him there by the fire. Uncas entered the cabin first, moving soundlessly so as not to wake the girls, but he could tell from their breathing that neither was yet asleep anyway.

He and Nathaniel settled down beside each other on their end of the room, on their deerskin mats. For a few moments they lay, on their backs, gazing up at the cabin roof, thinking of the morrow that lay ahead, both of them unable to resist relishing the idea of change. Then Uncas elbowed his brother.

"What?" Nathaniel muttered.

"Just glad you're coming tomorrow."

"I told you I would."

Uncas considered their conversation after Nathaniel had seen the Englishwomen for the first time. "Yeah, but it seemed like you might change your mind."

"I never change my mind."

They fell silent again. Uncas wondered what his older brother really thought of the dark-haired sister. There had been a few moments today where he had sensed Nathaniel's hostility towards her not only fade to the point of nonexistence but something else had taken its place. When he had given her his mother's comb. When they had come back into the cabin that night and seen the girls, washed, hair braided, in their more practical dresses.

He smiled up at the cabin roof. Nathaniel wasn't going to admit it, not now, maybe not ever, but there was something about Cora that _was_ like him. And it wasn't just the shared color of their skin.

It was their mutual stubbornness.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning started out cool and a little damp, with an overcast sky, but Nathaniel didn't mind such weather, as it was more pleasant to tramp through the forest on such a day than it was a sunny one.

They were making decent progress, at least on this first day, though he didn't doubt that they would be slowing down before the end of the week. Uncas was leading them, his path confident and sure, as they were very familiar with all the surrounding forest in every direction for days. Nathaniel noticed that as much as possible, where it didn't take them too far out of their way, Uncas tried to go around the more arduous sections of their environment, for the benefit of the women.

In the afternoon, they walked along the base of a mountain ridge, and crossed over it at one of its lower points. Nathaniel was bringing up the lead, with Cora in front of him, and Alice behind Uncas. Alice often stumbled--probably due less to incompetence or clumsiness than her footwear and clothing--but Uncas was quick to stop and help her, never showing impatience when they were slowed down. Cora made her own way well enough, Nathaniel had to admit, for a woman who had only been in this unfamiliar terrain and territory a short time. He offered her a hand when they had to climb, but she did not often accept his assistance. Very well, she wanted to be independent, he could respect that, although he didn't think it was necessary.

He watched the motion of her skirts now as she moved in front of him. They were proceeding up a shallow slope that was peppered with boulders, many of which had to be climbed over. He could tell by her breathing that she was tired. "Miss Munro."

Cora glanced over her shoulder, pausing. Uncas and Alice had gotten a little bit further ahead of them on the rocks. "Yes."

"Shouldn't you like to rest soon?"

Cora hesitated, putting two fists in the small of her back for a moment. "I suppose...I could use some water."

He took her elbow, feeling her tense but ignoring it. "Let me help you."

Further up, Uncas had just taken Alice's hand and guided her around a section of slippery shale. Nathaniel met his brother's gaze and, though he didn't know if he was too far away for him to see it, rolled his eyes.

"Thank you," Cora said tightly, after he had assisted her. "I know we are slowing you down."

"Yes." If she wanted to speak the truth, that was fine with him. "But you don't need to be afraid to ask for help."

"I am not afraid. Thank you again."

"You're very touchy, Miss Munro. If you don't mind me making such a personal comment."

She glanced at him, her eyes flashing, and just as she took her gaze off the ground in front of her, her shoe slipped on the deceptively loose layers of stone, causing her to lose her balance and lurch into him. Nathaniel braced himself automatically, not wanting either of them to tumble down the side of the slope they'd just come up. Cora's hand fumbled at his shirt for balance. She straightened herself, cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry."

"Quite all right," Nathaniel said. They made their way, silent now, up to where Uncas and Alice were waiting, at the top of the slope. Uncas, cradling his rifle in one arm, gave Nathaniel a quizzical look, noting Cora's sudden dishevelment and the odd air of tension between the two.

"My shoes," Cora said loudly. "They're scarcely made for mountain climbing. May we rest?"

At the top of the slope was a wooded area, windy but sheltered by trees, and the men waited as she and Alice sat down and took a few moments to regain their breath. Uncas gave the girls his water flask so they could drink. Normally he and Nathaniel just knelt down and drank from the nearest stream whenever thirst came upon them, but neither of them could imagine the women doing so, and so they'd brought along a flask to be re-filled whenever water sources became available.

"How's it going?" his younger brother murmured, as they stood to the side and surveyed the path they'd just come up.

Nathaniel uttered the Mohegan grunt that had a different meaning depending on context. "How's it with Alice?"

"She's fine. Doesn't say much. Still scared of me, I think."

"Scared of your manners, more than likely." Nathaniel couldn't resist the urge to make another jab in reference to their first dinner. Uncas just smiled, unoffended.

After a few more minutes, they turned back to the girls. "Let's move on," Nathaniel said. "We can get a few more leagues in before night."

***

Just when Alice was starting to feel as though she would scream if she had to take another step that day, the men found a place for them to stop and spend the night. She almost collapsed in relief.

The location they settled on was a sheltered, mossy little glade, with wildflowers scattered here and there and a lot of dead fallen trees, that would provide good protection for them to sleep near. Uncas departed in search of fresh water, while Nathaniel watched them make camp.

"Will we have a fire?" Cora asked Nathaniel. Alice looked eagerly at the oldest member of their group, hoping his answer would be yes. She was not cold, and it was but early evening, but she still dreaded the moment when dark night would fall over them and they would have to spend the long hours until morning without being able to see.

But the tall American shook his head. "Not safe."

"Here, Alice." Cora began to untie the blanket she'd kept rolled and strapped to her back. Alice had urged her to bring it after realizing that while the men had their own basic survival supplies, she'd seen them pack nothing in the way of cloaks or fabrics. Cora took a few moments to clear away as many of the pebbles and branches on the ground as possible, then spread the blanket out. They were situated right at the intersection of where two large oaks had fallen, and it provided a kind of wall from the rest of the forest, which was intellectually comforting. Alice sat down on the blanket and took off her shoes, making sure to keep her stockinged feet decently under her dress. Her feet and back ached. However hard the ground was, it was wonderful to be sitting down.

Nathaniel didn't check to see if they were hungry, but provided them with pieces of the jerky that was to nourish them while they travelled.

The jerky, rough and peppery, was not to Alice's taste but she chewed it obediently, hoping to quell the unladylike rumblings in her stomach. Before she finished, Uncas was back with a newly-filled water flask. "The river's northeast of us," he reported to Nathaniel. Alice thought he had a surprisingly pleasant voice, deep and gentle. "Might have to cross tomorrow." He crouched down beside Alice and offered her the water gourd. His brown eyes were kind.

"Thank you," she murmured. His hand touched hers as she accepted it and she wondered with a rush of embarrassment if it had been on purpose. Quickly she sipped at the water, hoping to cool her cheeks. There was nothing about their current situation that was known to her, no aspect in which she had any competence, and she was started to feel confused and frustrated by that. She was not a baby, even though Cora kept treating her like one. And Nathaniel, he had barely spoken a word to her since they'd met. It was all to Cora that he spoke. Uncas? He had helped her as they walked, true, but wasn't that just further evidence that he thought her a child? She knew she was the youngest member of the group, but she didn't want to be the weakest, or the most useless. Privately she resolved that she was going to try harder tomorrow. She wanted to get to the fort, get to some kind of civilization, see her father, and if they were going more slowly because of her, she would just have to do better.

"Alice, you're drinking all the water," Cora chided, and reached over to take it from her. Alice felt slightly betrayed by this unsisterly reproach. She looked up at Uncas, whose mouth twitched just a little. Alice stared at her knees drawn up to her chest and tried to think of other things.

As the evening wore on, Uncas rose and went to his post to take the first shift of night watch, and Nathaniel and Cora talked quietly of inconsequential things--Nathaniel had asked Cora about something back home, and she was responding--Alice found herself getting drowsy with fatigue. She knew it was early, but the first stars had just begun to sparkle in the sky and sleep was calling her. She slid further and further down until her head was pillowed in Cora's lap and, despite her newfound determination not to be the baby, it was so comfortable that she curled up there and surrendered completely to sleep.

At some indeterminate point later, she woke, disoriented. The calls of evening birds that had lulled her earlier were silent. There was no noise in the forest, and it was dark except for the moon, which had gone behind some clouds so she could only see dimly. Her head was now resting on someone's supply bag--not nearly as comfortable as Cora's lap--and she had the sudden thought that she was absolutely alone. Deserted.

She opened her mouth to scream, not on purpose but instinctively. But before she had a chance to utter the sound, a warm hand clamped over her mouth.

"Ssh," Uncas said, or rather breathed, into her left ear. Alice felt her heart throb painfully in her chest. She wasn't sure what scared her more at that instant--the fact that she'd thought she was alone or the realization that he had been, or was now, right behind her. His arm, which was like a band of hot steel, was completely around her. Alice tried to breathe and not pass out.

After a few eternal moments, she was able to perceive Nathaniel's form, some distance away. He had been there all along, she supposed, keeping watch, but she could only just now make out the outline of his strong nose and rifle that was held aloft. Cora, she could not see.

She did not know what was happening, why he was holding her, beyond that it was obvious he wanted her quiet, but now the initial scream had died in her throat she didn't think she would be able to speak even if he did let her go. She whimpered soundlessly against Uncas's hand, stared up at the barely visible moon and prayed that this would pass quickly.

At last, she felt the arm around her soften, and his hand come away from her mouth. She heard him sigh, and saw Nathaniel gesturing by the tree, though the meaning of whatever gestures he was making was lost on her. "It's all right," Uncas murmured. "They're gone."

_Who?_ she wanted to scream, but could only manage, "Cora...?"

A pale shape moved in the darkness at Nathaniel's feet, and as the moon slipped out from behind the clouds, she could see her sister's face. "I'm here," Cora whispered.

Alice sighed in relief and shivered at the same time, aware of the chill night air warning of fall coming. Uncas rose to his knees behind her and gathered up the blanket around her, his touch feather-light, almost as if it was a different person than the one who had been holding her immobile moments before. "Stay warm. It's still many hours to dawn."

She looked up at him, the blanket secure around her shoulders. The moonlight slanted down and highlighted his beautifully cut jaw. Alice stared, unable to reconcile the passing thought that he was handsome with the fact that he was, more importantly, an Indian. Until now it had never occurred to her that it was possible to be both. They were not like other men, after all. They were a different race. But Uncas was...different, too.

His eyes met with hers and his expression was unreadable for a few moments before he added, "You're safe now, miss."

The proper term of address startled her out of her thoughts and she meekly put her head back down on the improvised pillow. She wanted to call out to Cora, but did not quite dare. Cora seemed to be intent on keeping watch with Nathaniel or at least staying near him for the time being. Alice frowned into the rough fabric against her cheek. She was very aware of Uncas settling back down beside her, just inches away. Surely it was not proper for him to do so. Yet she dared not turn and question him. She doubted she could treat him like a white gentleman taking liberties, because after all, it was clear he was here for her protection, not for any nefarious or licentious reason. Still...

She tried very hard to go to sleep, but was not successful for a long time.


	9. Chapter 9

The next day's journey--thankfully, Cora thought, after recalling the stress of the previous night--started uneventfully. Unable to sleep, she had joined Nathaniel at his post after he traded places with Uncas, wanting to continue the conversation with him that they'd started earlier. It was strange to her, but while during the day Cora perceived Nathaniel as by turns taciturn or mocking, he seemed much easier to talk to at night. He had asked her questions about life in London, and she in turn had inquired a bit after his personal history. She was able to glean from him that he had grown up in America, had been adopted by Chingachgook at a young age, though further details regarding his parentage he had neglected to fill in for her. Still, she took it a good sign that he was open to communication.

Nathaniel was in the lead this morning. The four had not lingered after awakening, but had risen quickly, broken their fast, and headed out in the direction of the river. Cora followed close behind as they passed through a field of grasses that was too much like the place where their party had been attacked. It was odd, then, to remember that they had been riding on horseback, and the scenery had seemed so completely different from that lofty perspective. Now, she was forced to be much more aware of what was under and around her. America was undeniably a beautiful country. No wonder she was in the middle of a three-way war.

The young Englishwoman glanced behind her. Nathaniel's younger brother and her sister were trailing behind. She was glad to see that Uncas was so attentive to Alice along the journey, because it meant she could relax a little. She quickened her steps a little and caught up to Nathaniel. He walked in long strides, when they were traveling across level ground, and she had to move fast to keep pace with him. "Are we being followed?"

He shot her a quick sideways glance. "Why?"

"Last night. When we heard others."

"Why do you want to know everything?" He didn't sound angry, though, but rather tiredly amused.

"Because it's the only way I can learn anything." Cora caught up the front part of her skirts which she had already tripped on several times in trying to match pace with him, and pressed on. "I don't want to be left out."

"I appreciate that, Miss Munro, but as the leader of this expedition it's my job to determine what information is passed on to the other members of the party." Nathaniel gave her a grim smile.

"And what is my job?" She was trying not to be piqued, but it was hard. He did have such an irritating way of getting eloquent at random times.

"Your job is to watch your sister, and..."

"It looks to me as if your brother has taken over that role." Cora flashed a smile as bright as his had been dark, and was pleased that the little barb caused Nathaniel to pause in his steps, turn, and, shading his eyes against the sun, look back at the two following them.

"Well," he said eventually, his expression revealing nothing, "That is also his job. To protect you both."

"Mmm. Then what is my other job? You said 'and'..."

"To obey me."

Cora's mouth fell open. For a moment she was sure she must have misheard him. "Sir, if you are jesting, you go too far. I assure you I have every intention of submitting to my future husband--" the words caught and choked in her throat as she recalled how close she had been to having that husband, but for the events of a few days' past.

"I have a hard time picturing you submitting to anybody," Nathaniel said, unfazed by her reproach.

"You don't know me."

"I'm beginning to."

"You are _beginning_ to make assumptions. For shame, sir. Here I am scarcely at my best." Cora couldn't help but feel a wave of self-pity welling up. "Almost everything has been taken from me--"

"And you're feeling sorry for yourself." Nathaniel vaulted over a clump of brambles instead of going around. He landed like a cat, soundless. "Which is certainly permissible, except for the fact that if you become blinded by it, Nature won't show you any mercy."

"I suppose Nature in all her wisdom speaks to you personally."

Nathaniel turned then so suddenly that she almost ran into him. "Disobey me at your peril, Miss Munro."

She stared up into his dark eyes, not wanting to be intimidated but finding it hard. "Surely that is not a threat?"

"It is not. It is good advice."

Alice, with Uncas behind her, caught up to them in the few moments they stood there, frozen, neither one willing to look away first. The men, as they had become annoyingly accustomed to doing, exchanged a few words in their shared language, and then Nathaniel made a dismissive gesture.

"I'll lead from here," Uncas said then, stepping in front. Alice followed him, shooting Cora a look of commiseration.

Setting her teeth, Cora picked up her skirts again and followed after, ignoring Nathaniel, who would now be watching her until they next stopped. _Impossibly-mannered man_! She would love to take him back to London and show him that these backwoods ways of his would win him no friends in high society there. Then let him preach about self-pity and obedience. Ha!

She pressed herself harder from thereon, even more determined not to lag behind than she had been yesterday. Part of her knew it would be selfish to push herself to the point of exhaustion--she still had Alice to watch over, after all--but she was going to make her body perform as far as it could. If Nathaniel thought she was a sniveling weak-willed creature wallowing in misery, let him. She would prove him very wrong.

***

They reached the Mohawk river by noon. Uncas, glancing behind him at Alice, saw the look of dismay on her face as they neared the shores of the wide, turbulent waterway.

"Do we have to cross it?" she said, looking up at him fearfully. He was surprised and pleased. It seemed like it was the first thing she had said to him unprompted.

"We could follow it up from here, but it's likely to be easier walking on the east side."

Alice's dark-haired sister drew up, two spots of color sitting high in her cheekbones. She was obviously still angry at his brother, Uncas noted, and it didn't appear as if the two had exchanged a word since their earlier altercation that morning. He wasn't sure what Nathaniel was trying to prove with his poor attitude towards her. Uncas felt sympathy for Cora. She was taking too much upon herself.

He approached Nathaniel and the two looked out over the expanse of water. "What do you think, cross here?"

"Mhm. It's not that bad."

"Not for you and me," Uncas said, looking back at the women.

Nathaniel growled in irritation. "They won't break."

"You were the one who said they weren't like us, remember?"

"I said I wasn't like them, yeah."

"Same thing."

"So are we going to stand around talking about it or are we going to get moving before the sun sets?" Nathaniel jogged down to the water's edge, stripped off his shirt and tucked it in his bag, which he adjusted higher on his back, then turned around. Cora and Alice were trying not to look at him.

Uncas followed him down with a sigh. He took off his own shirt, while Cora picked her way across the stones and took her first steps into the water. Nathaniel was already wading, knee deep, towards the center, his rifle held aloft.

"Alice?" Uncas held out his hand for her arm. She was blushing, which he found odd and appealing at the same time. Did they never see their men with their shirts off? Then he realized she was looking at the tribal tattoos on his chest.

"I..I can't swim," she said, with an effort, still staring.

Guiding her by the arm, he drew her closer, into the water, which tugged at their legs. Nathaniel, ahead of them, was almost waist deep, with Cora wading after.

"You shouldn't have to. Not that deep."

"Uncas?" She grabbed his hand unexpectedly. Hers was ice-cold, and there was panic in her grey eyes. Those eyes that reminded him of the moon. "Don't let go of me."

Something stirred in his stomach, something beyond pity. Was it affection? For an intense moment he studied her. His people were not afraid of feeling, and neither was he, but there was a subterranean current running through him now warning him that feeling this might not be safe. Might not be...attainable. She needed him. _Right now_, he reminded himself. _Only right now_.

"I won't," he said gently.

Her small hand enclosed completely in his, he started towards the center of the river. This he could do. This moment. He could keep her safe. And he would, if he died doing it.

***

Nathaniel's leggings and loincloth were light and dried on him as he walked. He knew he probably should have put his long shirt back on once they'd forded the river, but he was unable to resist the sun burnishing his shoulders and back like a final blessing of summer, and perversely, he also enjoyed the idea of offending or at least tweaking Cora's sense of propriety. So he tucked the shirt into his bag and walked on, relishing the warm afternoon light.

He wasn't particularly fastidious by nature, but he preferred to be clean, and when the opportunity to get so presented itself in the form of a river, lake, or mountain stream, he rarely passed it up. Uncas was the same way. Swimming was not something that either of them did for pleasure, but their environment involved water, and they'd grown up learning to be comfortable with it, as just another skill to be mastered.

He looked behind him at the girls trailing along in their still sodden skirts and felt a moment's sympathy for the discomfort they must be feeling. Thank the Great Spirit, he'd been born a man and need never trouble himself with clothes that served anything other than a practical purpose. What a curse it must be to be female!

They made slow progress that afternoon, even though it seemed like Cora and Alice were both trying hard to keep up. The nature of the topography around the Mohawk prevented them from moving along quickly; while they were still in and surrounded by forest, there were vast open stretches of rock and cliffs now beginning to appear. It was Nathaniel's opinion that they were being followed by the same party that had come near to their camping spot of the previous night, and he spent the afternoon's travel considering where they might best find shelter tonight. It would need to be somewhere hidden, somewhere from which they would be able to see any attackers long before they got close enough to become trouble. He had in mind a cave that lay behind a major waterfall that, according to his reckoning, they should be able to reach before night fell. The cave he had discovered a few years earlier whilst traversing this same territory, and he thought it unlikely that the Huron, whose territory this wasn't, would know of its existence. At any rate, it would provide a safer shelter than the place they'd spent the night before and this was essential.

When they paused for a brief water break, Nathaniel communicated his plans to Uncas, who also thought it would be a good place to spend the night if they could find it, and added that he thought they might risk making a fire.

Nathaniel glanced past him at the women, who were resting atop riverside rocks and conversing between themselves in low tones. "If they're not dry by then. I suppose."

"Aren't you being a little..." Uncas paused, searching for the right word. Mohegan was a language better suited to talking about palpable things than it was about attitudes and feelings. "..hard?"

"I never knew you were so sensitive. I've seen you around some of the girls at camp, you were never so worried about whether or not they liked you then." Nathaniel ducked the hit that his brother threw in his direction.

"If we're taking them to their father, he's going to have to meet us and it would probably be better if they didn't hate us at that point," Uncas defended. "And anyway, I don't care if they like me or not, but they _are_ different from the wolf people."

"You're only just realizing this now?" Nathaniel muttered.

"So...I'd like to get them to their father healthy in one piece, that's all I am saying."

"My brother the peacemaker."

Uncas shrugged and half-smiled. "Not such a bad thing to be. Your ancestors are the ones tearing this land apart right now, not mine."

This was true and Nathaniel couldn't think of any way to rebut it, so he clapped the younger man on the shoulder and turned. Cora and Alice rose also. Cora was definitely looking a little peaked. He gave her a sharp glance as he circled her. "You hungry?"

Cora shook her head. "I can wait till we stop for the night, thank you." Her words was polite, but there was a definite chill at their core. She was still sulking over having been told to obey him, no doubt.

"Alice?"

The younger girl shook her head quickly.

"Right," Nathaniel said. "Let's get going."

His memory of the location of the cave turned out to be accurate, though he wasn't terribly surprised to find it so because survival could and quite often did depend on such accuracy. A waterfall, not broad but with a long fall of about two hundred feet, pooled into white water in the river below.

To get to the cave's entrance behind the waterfall required navigating along a steep, slippery cliffside with no natural path. For Nathaniel and Uncas it would have meant a matter of only a few more moments of caution but with two tired women, the short journey from the surrounding forest to the narrow aperture of the cave was an ordeal. Cora slipped more than once, though Nathaniel was right alongside her to help, and Alice, despite Uncas's urgings to trust her eyesight, navigated almost the entire way with her eyes squeezed firmly shut, her hand enclosed in the young warrior's. When all four finally slipped behind the curtain of water and made it into the damp but safe rock enclosure, the women were not alone in breathing sighs of relief.

"That was fun," Nathaniel murmured, but he didn't think anyone heard him, the roar of the waterfall being loud enough to obscure a quiet comment. "Let's go further in."

The light filtering through the water allowed just enough for them to see partially into the cave, though by night it would be like being in a closed room. They explored the length and depth of the cave. It was more like a long tunnel, narrow rather than wide, that curved left around towards the back of the cliff and there ended abruptly.

Cora's shoulder was brushing Nathaniel's arm as they crowded there for a moment, uncertain of their next move, and he felt a tremor shake her body.

"You're cold."

"A little," Cora allowed.

"Stay here with them," Nathaniel said to Uncas, whom he couldn't even see, as they were out of direct view of the water now. "I'll be back."

He went out to the cliff and nimbly re-negotiated the rocks until he was back into the forest, then spent a few minutes gathering a sizeable armload of wood. The forest was full of dead timber and nicely aged material. He tucked a good bundle under his arm and returned to the cave.

It was not long after that that he had a good fire going, tucked out of sight in the back where it should be impossible to see if anyone came close without actually entering the cave itself. Cora and Alice both seemed grateful for and glad of both the light and the heat that the fire provided, as they crouched by it, wrapped in Cora's blanket, to dry their dresses.


	10. Chapter 10

"Warm enough?" Uncas asked from the other side of the fire.

Alice bobbed her head, feeling shyness strike again. She was embarrassed over her reproachable performance in getting into the cave, but she had been genuinely terrified that she was going to fall, especially after having seen Cora slip a few times. Nathaniel had been right there to pull her sister up, but it had been an unnerving experience. As had the trek across the river been...but Uncas, bless him, had never let go of her hand the slightest bit, not until they were safe on the shore and then, well, that had been a bit awkward for a moment as she had remembered proper manners, and clinging to an Indian brave was not something that well-brought-up young ladies of her acquaintance did...

But it had still been infinitely preferable to attempting it on her own. She wished she knew what to say to Uncas, to somehow thank him, but she sensed that thanks at this point would be either meaningless--because they were not yet at the end of the journey--or he would misunderstand them.

She would be _so_ glad when they were back at the fort.

And yet...and yet...

She looked through the flames at the men who were bringing them there. Uncas's thoughtful brown eyes. She had never seen such interesting brown eyes. Nathaniel's rough ways with her sister, but she had seen him, too, in his own way, providing as much help as was needed. He had built the fire for them. What would become of them? Would they go back to their cabin, to their Indian father? She supposed so. As much as she couldn't wait to see her own father and regain that part of her, that civilized part of her that was lost in this wild, maddening country, she knew, suddenly, with perfect clarity, that she did not want to say goodbye to these new acquaintances of theirs, either.

Alice rested her chin on her knees and leaned forward. Her hair was escaping its braids, and wisps of it tumbled forward, gleaming by the firelight. She gazed at the leaping flames, blue and orange and purple. Heat. Life.

She was always cold, always. Even now her hands were cold. She tried to remember the last time she had felt completely warm. Had it been back in England? It must have been. The summers were warm enough in England. The weather had been warm enough here when they first landed on these shores. But she was still always cold.

She looked sideways at her sister's profile. Though Cora was right beside her, though she could feel her sister's body warmth radiating through their thin dresses, she felt far away from her, for the first time. Cora had always been her benchmark. Since their mother died. Alice was almost too young to have remembered her, though Cora always told her that she had been much like Alice. Pretty, wistful...weak. Alice realized now that that was what Cora had meant. Cora would never have called her weak, but she was. She had none of the vitality that seemed to run in her sister's veins and, in these men of this new world, overmuch in their blood.

Cora...felt like a stranger to her, almost, as she looked at her. Dark, springing hair. A jaw a little too determined for true beauty, although her loyal little sister's heart had always thought Cora beautiful. Eyes that spoke volumes when she was angry, that said the angry words a lady was not permitted to say. Alice wished she had some of Cora's temper.

She looked back through the flames at Uncas, who was poking the fire with a long green stick, and wondered if he had a temper. If he did, she hadn't seen it yet. She sensed in him a vague frustration with Nathaniel, pity for Cora, a seemingly endless supply of patience for her. She wondered if she wanted to see him angry and decided not. Or, if he were to get angry, she didn't want it to be because of her. She didn't want to disappoint him, she realized.

"Alice." She became aware that Cora had said her name several times. "Alice, are you falling asleep?"

"No." Alice dug her feet in the rocky grooves under her. "No..."

Nathaniel had re-entered the cave bearing more wood for the night's burn.

"Dark out yet?" Uncas wanted to know.

"Not yet, won't be long though."

"Mhm." Uncas rose, passed his brother the poke stick and disappeared out of sight.

Alice had just been settling back into her thoughts and was mesmerized once again by the flames so that she barely noticed when Uncas re-appeared, until he was suddenly crouching by her. "Hold out your hands."

She did, a little fearfully, hoping he wasn't going to put anything alive into them...she resisted the urge to squeal in protest. He tipped his hands into hers and out rolled a pile of glossy dark purple berries, of a kind she'd never seen before.

"_Sôhtásh_," Uncas said. "Blue berry."

Alice looked in wonder at the tiny jewels. "For me?"

"And your sister," Uncas said, inclining his head towards Cora.

Nathaniel, glancing over from his attendance of the fire, said, "They're at their peak just now. Saw them coming up."

Alice put a few in her mouth, tentatively, but upon the first sun-sweetened taste she smiled, passing a handful over to Cora.

Despite their fatigue, the girls finished the fruit in less than a minute. It was a perfect change from the tough jerky that had been their meal for the past thirty hours. Thus fortified, and with more fresh water from the flask, Alice settled down by the fire, a couple of large rocks at her back, to wait for the coming and passage of night.

***

"Miss Munro, wake up." Nathaniel, rather ungently, gripped Cora's shoulder, jerking her out of a half-sleep. The fire had shrunk to a dim glow of embers, but continued to throw off a bone-warming heat.

Cora struggled to clear her senses. Alice was curled near, softly sleeping, a curtain of pale hair covering her face. Uncas was in the shadows beyond Nathaniel, his face serious.

"What is it?" She blinked, longing for a drink of water. "What...?"

"Sh. We're going outside. You have to stay here, no matter what, do you understand me?"

She was bewildered by his insistence. "All right..."

"And don't wake Alice. I don't know when we'll be back, but stay here, both of you. Don't come out to look, even if you hear anything."

"Nathaniel--"

"It's fine." He gave her shoulder a shake for emphasis. "Do you understand?"

"Yes.."

Uncas moved towards the exit, and Cora, straining to see, realized that both men were shirtless and had soot-smudged faces.

"Right." Nathaniel held her gaze for a long moment more, then he rose and moved almost soundlessly, disappearing with his brother into the shadows.

Cora tried to get herself back to the state of relaxation she had been pulled from, but it proved impossible. She dragged herself, feeling the ache of sitting on rocks in every one of her bones, over to the packs and dug out the water flask, taking a few long swallows. There was still a small pile of wood near the fire from what had been brought in last night and she added another log, to make the fire just bright enough to keep burning. She tried to listen to what might be going on outside, but could hear nothing but the same steady fall of water that had been echoing through the cave all night.

Later, she must have drifted off again, because she came to with the sharp sounds of a rifle firing. It startled her into alertness, but it was followed not very long after that by a muffled but still audible scream that echoed into the back chamber. It was an almost inhuman cry, similar to the ones they'd heard just before being ambushed, and it made Cora's back tingle from the base of her spine all the way up into the roots of her hair. The fire had gone out and it was almost pitch-black within the cave. She reached fearfully for Alice, but her sister had not stirred.

She was on her feet before she remembered Nathaniel's exhortation that they were not to go out under any circumstances, and she sank back down again, squeezing her eyes shut against her fear for a moment. In here, they were trapped. There was nowhere to run. If whatever or whoever was out there came in here...

She tried to talk herself through it. Nathaniel and Uncas had not left them, surely, nor would Nathaniel have told her to stay if he thought she wouldn't be safe. But that yell...it brought back all the memories of the terror she'd felt when they were riding through the seemingly peaceful wilderness and everything had been shattered.

It was not long after that she heard movement by the mouth of the cave. Not wanting to leave Alice, but unable to remain in ignorance any more, she darted out to the curtain of waterfall.

Cora was not prepared for the sight of Nathaniel and Uncas as they were then revealed. Uncas knelt at the rock's edge, washing his hands and arms in the water that came shooting over top of them, while Nathaniel held aloft a torch in one hand. In his other he bore a tomahawk--Cora had seen the handle of it tucked into his belt but not yet seen it drawn. In the torchlight, sticky blood gleamed on the blade, on Nathaniel's arms, was even spattered across his bare chest.

Cora tried to back up, but she stood there, unable to move, held captive by the sight, by his glittering eyes that warned her to say something, to express the shock. But she could not speak.

Uncas stood up, took the torch from his brother without a word, eyed Cora almost apologetically and waited while Nathaniel took his place by the water. The older man stuck his entire head under the flow, drew it back and shook it like an animal, sending a fantastic spray of droplets flying everywhere. Still Cora stood. She sensed that they did not care if she were there or not, that they would have done what they had to do regardless.

"Alice asleep?" Nathaniel inquired curtly, turning to look back at her, dripping.

Cora nodded, then realized they probably couldn't see the slight motion and forced herself to utter a muffled "Yes."

"You have any questions?"

She said nothing, and Nathaniel, after waiting a moment, took several slow deliberate strides in her direction. She stood her ground.

"Well?"

Cora shook her head. "No. No."

"Because we're not going to be discussing this tomorrow."

She shook her head adamantly. She was rather more afraid of talking to him at that moment than of what he might actually reveal to her.

Seemingly mollified, Nathaniel relaxed. Uncas had propped the torch in a crevice in the rock wall and was quietly washing their weapons in the water now. Torchlight glinted off his copper-skinned back.

Cora realized that nothing in her life had even remotely prepared her for the past few moments, and this realization breaking over her like a wave was almost humiliating. She always met things head-on; she was not accustomed to backing down, feeling fear, or feeling diminished. In England she had thrived, despite the occasionally oppressive social climate. But here--in the new world, in the colonies, she realized that she had been naive to think it would work out the same way. This was not a foreigner's world, and certainly not a foreign woman's world. It was a world that was much farther from being civilized than she had thought. If men could appear in the middle of the night covered in someone else's blood without a word of explanation...

Well, to be fair, Nathaniel had just offered her a chance at explanation. She simply hadn't been brave enough to take it.

She took a long, slow breath, drawing in as much oxygen to her body as her lungs would allow, then expelled it, hoping the mere action would bring her calmness. It only served to make her rather light-headed.

Uncas murmured something in Mohegan as he rose, wiping the wet blades of the tomahawks on the thigh of his leggings. Nathaniel responded with two short sharp syllables.

The young Indian said then, "You should go back to your sister," not unkindly, and added, "and get some sleep."

Sleep. As if she would be able to do that any time in the near future. And if she did, it would be nothing but dreams of glittering eyes and blood-stained tomahawks. Cora felt a little sick. But her body, finally, allowed her to move and she made her way to the end of the curved chamber, back to Alice's side. She curled up beside her and wrapped an arm around the younger girl's blanketed body, hoping to share her warmth. Pressing her face into the rough fabric of the handmade quilt, she wondered when things would ever return to something approximating normal.

She really, really wanted it to be soon.

***

By the time he had disposed of the bodies of the three French soldiers and one Huron scout, dawn's grey light was creeping up on the horizon, signaling the start of a new day. Normally, Uncas would have left the bodies where they fell and not given them another thought, but there were two reasons in this case for not doing so. The first was that he didn't want the women to see the bodies on their way out, and they would have been unable to avoid passing them; the second was that if there were more, and there were always more, the evidence should be hidden for a reasonable amount of time while they got away.

Uncas was a little weary when it was finished. He had only gotten a couple of hours' sleep earlier in the evening, when Nathaniel had been on watch. Nathaniel would have gone with him, but he had wanted one of them to stay in the cave with the women. Sleep could always be caught up on later.

Upon his return, he spent a moment, torn, considering what he should do with the one scalp he'd taken a few hours earlier. It was his due as a warrior not only to keep it but to display it proudly from his belt. But he had a fairly good idea of how Cora and Alice would feel about that. The act itself had been quite simple for him--the existence of the men tracking them had presented a threat to something that was under his protection, and by his own people's code he'd been fully justified in dispatching them. And while he had no compunctions about that, something in him still told him that when it came to displaying the scalp, it might, perhaps, be wiser to wait. Chingachgook had always taught him never to cause any undue grief to any living being. Whether that meant putting an animal out of its misery quickly, or granting a quick death to a suffering man, or simply refraining from teasing something smaller and weaker than him--the rules had never been hard for him to understand. He had no desire to make life any more difficult for the two white women he was guiding to the fort than it already presently was. And he knew it was only a contrariness in Nathaniel's spirit that caused him to behave, now and again, as if he felt the opposite. A desire, perhaps, not to be competitive in the same arena but rather to change the rules of the game. While Uncas didn't really understand this, he knew it was part of his white brother's quirkiness and could not feel any rancor towards him for it, either.

At last, he tucked the scalp--which would have to dry properly later--into a piece of buckskin, wrapped it and put it in his bag with his other supplies. Then he returned to the cave.

Cora and Alice were both up. Alice looked well enough, innocent as before, her hair completely loose now, falling almost to her waist. Under Cora's eyes the dark streaks were testament to the little sleep she must have gotten. They were breakfasting on some of the jerky, but neither looked as if it held much interest for them. Uncas would have gone out and gone in search of something fresh for them as he had last night with the berries, but Cora was probably not in the mood for such overtures.

A still bare-chested Nathaniel yawned, rolled over and sat up, shaking back his long, unruly hair.

"Good morning," Alice said politely.

For a moment none of them knew what to do, brought back to the world of manners with an odd jolt, and then Nathaniel said, giving her an indulgent, older-brotherly once-over, "Morning, Alice."

This minor social interaction lent an odd feeling of domesticity to the air, and they disbanded rather rapidly, the men getting properly dressed while the sisters went to the rock's edge to wash soot off hands and sleep out of faces, and doubtless attend to other personal needs. When the women came back, Cora had Alice sit down in front of her while she produced the comb Nathaniel had given her--with some defiance--and went to work on her hair. Alice winced, gripping the edge of her dress.

Uncas watched them for a moment. They were so picturesque sometimes. Cora, with tension evident in every line of her body, pulling the comb through Alice's almost white locks, while the latter made faces whenever the comb hit a snag. "Ow," Alice murmured.

"Sorry." Cora attacked the snag with a little less vigor but no more gentleness. When Alice's hair was finally smooth, she rebraided it into a single long thick braid and re-tied it. "There," she said, and then, looking at the men, added with a touch of defiance, "We're ready to go."


	11. Chapter 11

_updating a bit early this time, as I may not be able to get in another before my move this weekend. glad everyone is enjoying the story so far... _

***

It became overcast again around the afternoon of that day when they headed out, with pale grey and purple thunderclouds gathering slowly in the distance. Nathaniel didn't mind the contrast to the previous day's sun, nor did he have any particular objection to travelling in the rain if that were to occur, but he knew it would slow them down and therefore he found himself hoping that the rain, which was surely coming, would at least hold off until the arrival of evening.

Then again, perhaps rain would be desirable. It might do something to break the multi-directional tension that hung between the group as tightly as if they had been tied to each other with taut ropes. Nathaniel certainly felt it, and he didn't consider himself to be overly sensitive to the moods of others. Alice was the least affected, having apparently slept through the events of the previous night, and it did not appear as if Cora had relayed those events to her. Uncas was more thoughtful and less communicative than usual--and Uncas was never very communicative, at least not with words, but Nathaniel found himself irked nonetheless.

They were all tired.

He concentrated on the rhythm of walking. It was challenging to keep a steady pace here, as their proximity to the river had them traveling less through forest than over rock and around precipices. Just when another peak was crested and it seemed as if there might be a flat stretch of ground to cover, another dip and another upwards incline presented itself. Cora and Alice had to stop frequently to catch their breaths.

At these times, Nathaniel and Uncas also paused, as if they too needed to rest, which actually they rarely did. They were used to hours of travel at a time, often running. It was frustrating to have to move so slowly. At such a rate, it was impossible to cover more than several miles a day. If they had had a canoe, they might have reached the fort in a few days, as the Mohawk led them almost straight to Oswego.

"Rain," Uncas observed, coming up beside him.

"Yeah, I thought it might wait till night, but doesn't look like it." The air had that odd metallic tint to it that he liked.

"Think we need to stop?"

Alice drew up behind them, tossing her braid back over her shoulders and straightening, sighing with fatigue. "Are we stopping?" she echoed.

"Rain," Uncas explained, indicating the sky. Nathaniel threw his brother a sardonic look which the other young man chose to pretend he didn't notice. Uncas was not a man of many words today, evidently.

Cora trailed behind and did not come up to join them on the rock they had paused on, instead sitting down slowly on a twisted stump of a lightning-felled log.

"Come on, Cora, we should keep moving," Alice called back, somewhat uncharacteristically. She threw Nathaniel and Uncas a timid glance as if looking for their approval.

"I'll catch up." Her sister did not look over and waved a hand in a dismissive manner.

Alice looked dismayed at Nathaniel. "I don't think she's feeling well."

"She'll be fine," Nathaniel said. "Didn't get enough sleep last night." He said this in a loud tone of voice.

"That is correct, I am fine. Please keep going, I will be along in a few more moments." Cora stared at the ground in front of her feet.

"We can't go on ahead," Alice said, glancing back and forth between the two men and her sister, torn. "Maybe I could wait with her a little..."

"No. Uncas, take Alice. We'll catch up."

The young Mohegan shouldered his long rifle again and turned, guiding Alice by the elbow as he went. She let herself be steered away, though she looked uncertainly back at Nathaniel and Cora.

Nathaniel, thinking he would rather have his tongue carved out of his mouth with a wooden spoon than deal with any of these temperamental creatures known as women any longer, stared up at the sky for a few moments, hoping for inspiration. It didn't come. When he looked back down at Cora he still found himself with no desire to say anything to her.

To give her credit at the moment, she didn't look like she was feeling sorry for herself. That was something. Not enough, but something.

The wind, which was beginning to pick up, swirled her dress around her feet and sang through the leaves on the trees. Summer was coming to an end. It had been the custom of the three men, Chingachgook and his two sons, to winter in more temperate climes, though the rest of their relatives never moved their camps far from this particular location south of the Mohawk river. Once a season they usually stopped by to check up on and visit with family, but they had not yet been this summer. It was time to go again. Nathaniel wondered where this winter would see them...

The first few drops of rain began to spatter lightly from the nearby sky, landing in a rhythmic pattern on the leaves of the trees above them.

"Come on," he said. "We've got to keep going."

Cora was thumbing something back and forth in her hand and he realized it was the bit of cloth bearing the insignia of the officer she'd been engaged to. "I did not ask you to stay."

"You would have if you'd any sense. Look, I don't know why I'm still having to explain this to you, but it's not safe for you to be anywhere by yourself. You're a walking target. French, Huron, Iroquois could be anywhere. I wouldn't even trust an English soldier to get you back safely to the fort."

He did not say this deliberately intending to reference Hayward, but Cora looked up as he said it and he realized she thought he had. Her eyes were like coals in her wan face. "He _died_ defending us."

"Yes, he did. And he would have wanted you to be sensible about your and your sister's safety. So let's _move_."

The rain began to fall more heavily, flattening her hair to her head, soaking her dress to a colorless gray. Cora hugged herself and stood up, but she did not look as though she intended to be tractable. "I will do as you say, Nathaniel, only because I think you are right. Duncan would have wanted me to listen to anyone who could get me safely to my father."

Nathaniel was surprised. _The first flickerings of good sense finally starting to show themselves, eh? Duncan...how well had she even known him? More than likely neither of them'd had any idea of what they were getting themselves into. Kids._

"But," Cora continued, "what happened last night must not happen again."

"You don't even know what happened last night."

She colored. "What I mean is that you left without telling me where you were going or when you would be back. I was frightened. How could I know if we were safe or not?"

"_Miss_ Munro." Nathaniel rolled his eyes at the pouring heavens. "I thought we had already settled this. I'll let you know what is important for you to know. And as for the rest, you'll just have to trust me."

A distant but clear bird call sounded--it was Uncas, wondering why they had not caught up yet--and Nathaniel responded with one of his own, and looked back at Cora.

She followed him this time without reply, in the direction that Uncas and Alice had gone.

***

There was not much about the next few days of travel that made them stand out to Alice in any way. The world around her seemed to blur into water-soaked shades of green, gray, and brown. The inclement weather continued, with the rain stopping occasionally during the afternoons but resuming during the evenings and well on into the night, with frequent morning squalls. This weather was attributed by the men to the changing of seasons--apparently it was quite common for this time of year. Alice was no stranger to rain; her native England was damp more often than not, but she usually viewed such weather from the inside of her house's strong walls and by the comfort of its warm fires taking the chill out of the air.

Here, there were no such comforts. Food was scarce, consisting of the everpresent jerky which seemed to be all Nathaniel and Uncas required for sustenance, and the occasional nuts or berries or whatever could be scrounged by the wayside as they travelled. At nights, they continued to camp out in the open, although the men still took turns standing watch--Nathaniel the first five hours of darkness, and Uncas the last five just before dawn.

Alice was perennially cold. They had not had another fire since the night spent behind the waterfall, and her dress, which was in a sad state, never seemed to get thoroughly dry between soakings of rain. The blanket was some comfort at night--they kept it protected in a semi-waterproof wrap of deerskin that Uncas had given her--but it could not do much to erase the bone-aching chill that seemed to start from her very core and go outwards to her extremities. She found herself, as they travelled, dreaming of things that she'd never given very much thought to before. A hot mug of tea to wrap her hands around. A bowl of steaming soup. Her deliciously comfortable feather bed that she had shared with Cora, piled high with quilts. Shoes of any kind other than the ones she was currently forced to endure. Buns fresh from their cook's oven...

They kept moving. Through the rain. They kept walking.

Uncas was a comfort, that was true...and perhaps, if she allowed herself to be honest, he was the only comfort. Though she had depended completely on Cora at the beginning of their arrival in the new world, Alice found Cora now to be distant. Preoccupied, perhaps, with her own concerns and discomforts. And it seemed somehow understood by all of them that just as Cora was Nathaniel's responsibility, Alice was Uncas's...and she had come to expect his good treatment of her, his help, his rare indications of approval. He was very focused on the task of getting them there, she could see that, so she counted it a little victory each time she was able to break his focus even if only for a moment and make him smile, or explain something to her, or give her some extra attention. The past few days would have been unbearable if not for those moments. If not for his patience. While the journey seemed to be everlasting, she also was not quite ready to think about how soon it would be ending.

She wanted to talk to Cora, to try to determine what it was that was preventing them from sharing their old bond of sisterhood, but there was never any opportunity. When they were on the trail it was too hard to start any kind of conversation--the physical effort required of them made that impractical, and their points of rest were the same, it was so necessary simply to catch a breath before starting out again that they could not exchange more than a few words. At night, the atmosphere wasn't conducive to talking, light-hearted or otherwise. Though Nathaniel and Uncas seemed to have indicated by their attitudes if not in words that there was no immediate threat any longer, they still had an air of watchfulness that carried them through the night and made Alice reluctant to break the silence.

So time passed, and nothing of import was said between the two sisters.

On one of the days--she didn't know which, there was no way to mark time and she couldn't remember for how long they had been journeying--they were crossing through a particularly difficult section of wilderness. The forest on either side was too thick to navigate through, and they had to come down a hill into a wooded valley, but the hill was peppered with upthrust rocks and a regular stream of muddy rainwater had cut a small chasm down its middle. They were picking their way through it now. It was drizzling.

Alice batted a strand of loose hair out of her face and peered through wet eyelashes at the ground ahead of her, trying to determine where to place her feet. Her shoe gave way on her and she slipped quite completely into the mud. The others had gotten a bit ahead of her, so no one noticed, and for a few moments she sat there, feeling mud and water soak into her filthy skirts, and wanting to scream.

"Alice?" Cora had glanced back, and Nathaniel paused and Uncas backtracked.

For a minute they all just stared at her, and she felt tears of humiliation spring to her eyes. Was nobody going to help her up? What a horrible land this was! She would never have dared to say it, though she certainly thought it. But then in that moment Uncas shared what seemed to Alice an indulgent glance with Nathaniel, and that undid her. "You were _supposed_ to be beside me!"

He came to her then and stood over her, holding out a hand. "I'm sorry. You just look like...a flower."

"A_ flower_?" she demanded, ignoring his hand.

"One of those white ones," he clarified, "that somebody picked and threw in the mud."

Nathaniel laughed. Even Cora smiled ruefully, no doubt seeing the comparison. Alice's dress, spread out like that, even muddied as it was, looked like a trumpet-shaped morning glory, albeit one in sad condition.

Alice grasped Uncas' arm--getting mud all over it in the process--and used it to pull herself to her feet, then let go of him and shook out her skirts furiously. "Well, this flower is not walking any more today." Her ankle ached, though she didn't think she had seriously twisted it, but if they wanted to continue, she didn't care. She was going to take the rest of the day off.

Uncas glanced at Nathaniel, and after a few shared words they appeared to come to the conclusion that they would all stop. Nathaniel said, "I'll find shelter," and disappeared.

"Lean on me, Alice," Cora said, coming to her. "Is your foot all right?"

"Yes." She was glad it was still raining, now, because they helped to conceal the angry tears. Taking Cora's arm, she tried to continue down the incline, but her ankle rebelled.

Uncas looked concerned. "Here, let me--"

"No!" Petulantly, she pushed him away. She had been happy to accept help before, but she was still angry over the look he'd given Nathaniel. If they were finding her too much trouble, that was simply too bad!

"Alice, I can't--" Cora tried to take a firmer grasp on her sister's arm, but she too was having trouble navigating the slippery slope, much less bear the younger girl's weight as she limped.

Uncas ran his hand over his face in a universal gesture of frustration, then stepped in again, gently shouldering Cora out of the way. She stepped back, resigned. The young Mohegan, ignoring Alice's yelp of protest that occurred almost at the same time as his action, scooped her up and started down the slope. Alice held her breath, half-afraid he would drop her, wondering how it was possible that anyone could be so surefooted and swift at the same time.

"It is highly improper to be carried so," she said by way of protest, in the direction of Uncas's chest. Not only was it improper but it was rather humiliating, because in order not to burden him any further than he already was, she had to cling to something as they moved, and the best place for her arms seemed to be around his neck. Bobbing, she looked beyond his shoulder at Cora, who was following them more carefully. "Cora, make him put me down."

"I can't," Cora said. "Maybe it is best just for now...for a little while."

Uncas paused for a moment at the base of the hill, where a small stream caused by the rain was cutting across their path, held Alice a little more tightly and vaulted over it. Alice screamed; as foolish as she felt afterwards, she couldn't help it.

Nathaniel re-appeared out of nowhere. "Come on, I've found a place. She okay?"

"She has turned her foot," Cora said wearily. "Your brother is assisting."

"I see that." Nathaniel jerked with his head.

Uncas carried Alice for another few hundred feet into the center of a small thicket of willow trees. Though the ground was damp everywhere, at the base of the tree the foliage overhead was leafy enough that it provided a natural roof shielding them from most of the falling rain. He set her down, and brushed muddy hands off on his leggings. "Your hands are freezing. Why didn't you say something?"

_I am always cold_, Alice wanted to say.

Cora came up and sank down beside Alice. Uncas surveyed their location and looked at his brother. "Build a fire?"

"Good luck," Nathaniel replied, adding, "Everything's wet as hell. Excuse my language," he added with a grin for Cora and Alice's benefit.

"She's cold."

"Hold her hands." Though he said it blandly, his older brother seemed to find this suggestion very amusing.

Cora began to unwrap the blanket, which she wore tied to her waist in a bundle. She shook it out and put it around her sister's shoulders.

Uncas crouched beside them and, without asking for permission, reached out for Alice's hands. Her instinct, still aggravated as she was from the past few minutes, and Nathaniel's amusement, was to snatch them away. But Uncas made a quiet but insistent sound in his throat and she was forced to meet his eyes. She saw nothing but calm assurance there, no mockery. And for just a moment, she forgot about the importance of propriety.

He rubbed her icy, dirty fingers in his own, equally muddy but warm ones for a few minutes, until she started to feel sensation in them again.

She noticed for the first time he had a gold bracelet that wound around his left wrist like a snake.

Nathaniel wandered off to explore. He seemed to have a neverending amount of energy, for which Alice envied him. Next to her, Cora had leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes as if to nap for a little while.

"Warming up?" Uncas inquired quietly.

"Yes, thank you." She pulled away then, embarrassed again.

The rain continued to fall, but more gently here, under the protection of the drooping willow tree. And the forest was quiet, save for the breeze that stirred the leaves, and the sound of their breathing.


	12. Chapter 12

Prodded into wakefulness by cold, Cora drifted out of the dream-filled and odd nap to find Nathaniel kneeling across from her, his proximity doubtless due to the fact that the base of the tree was the driest place to be. He had his rifle out in front of him, laid on the ground in several parts on a piece of hide, and he was reassembling it. His turquoise eyes, so odd in his tanned face, met hers thoughtfully.

At least the rain had stopped. Cora became aware of an ache in her neck. Rubbing it, she shifted, rearranging her damp skirts. "I...I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Quite all right," Nathaniel said. She wondered if it cost him an effort to sound pleasant. He indicated something with a jerk of his head, and Cora followed the motion to see Uncas and Alice in a very odd position a few feet away. Uncas was sitting up against the tree much as Cora had been, his chest rising and falling evenly and his eyes closed. One hand was on his belt near his tomahawk; the other arm was wrapped around Alice, who, thoroughly tucked into the blanket, had curled up against his chest, her hair obscuring her face from view.

For a moment Cora just stared, conflicting emotions competing for attention in her heart. On one side, they looked enviably peaceful. On the other, that was her little sister, virtually sleeping in the arms of a, well, a savage. A savage who had helped them, certainly, but who was not a member of any society they could acknowledge or recognize as civilized.

"What _are_ they doing?" she asked at last.

"Sleeping, or so it appears." As she turned her gaze back on him, Nathaniel met her eyes boldly and lifted the corner of his mouth in a quirk of a smile, daring her to say something.

But she had to. She could not let him think that she would let just anything go unchallenged. "Sir," she began, taking a deep breath, more for courage than for oxygen, "I want you to know that I do deeply appreciate what you are doing for us in guiding us to the fort, and I am honestly sorry if anything I've said or done in the past week has led you to believe otherwise, but--"

"Cora."

She was stilled by his use of her first name.

"Cora," he said again, as if he liked the sound of it. Or maybe he was just trying to offend her, but oddly enough, to her ears now it was preferable to the too-formal "miss" that had been coming from him. "I can assure you that your sister is safe with my brother."

"It is not her safety to which I am referring." _Not exactly.._ "It is her...reputation and morality that I wish to keep secure."

"Her reputation?" Nathaniel repeated with a short laugh. "Forgive me, Miss Munro, but I haven't noticed a wealth of your breed of folk out here--anyone who would gossip or tell tales about an innocent child."

"It is exactly that innocence that I desire to preserve. Furthermore, I do not understand your use of the word "breed" to describe our people." Cora felt herself getting irritated, though she was determined to maintain equanimity in this conversation no matter what cost. "You are a white man, an Englishman by blood if not upbringing and you should be as concerned about the preservation of standards and morals as I. I realize that here in the new world circumstances are different and we may be forced to...to relax some of our conditions while we travel and accustom ourselves to your frontier, but..."

Again Nathaniel cut her off. He certainly hadn't been schooled in the niceties of formal debate. "First of all, my upbringing was, I'd wager, superior to any my peers on your tiny island received. _Furthermore_, you seem to keep forgetting the fact that we're all in the middle of a war here, and your conditions take second place to my need to keep you alive. So I'd appreciate you not lecturing me on the need to maintain standards and morals. I haven't noticed any slippage in those respects in any case."

Alice murmured something unintelligible in her sleep and let out a little happy sigh of warmth, her breath sending tendrils of hair fluttering around her face and then falling again. Uncas shifted, his head dipping.

For a few moments, an awkward silence fell. Then Nathaniel said, a little more gently, "Your sister is very young. And it is your duty to protect her. I understand that."

"Thank you." She was only slightly mollified.

"I still don't think you have anything to worry about."

Cora tugged at a dusky curl of hair by her ear, aware suddenly that she had not seen her own face in far too long and that it must be ridiculously dirty, rain notwithstanding. "Until I can get Alice back to our father, protecting her is my only duty. Perhaps I have been...too occupied with my own thoughts and troubles these past few days."

She recalled Alice's turning her foot earlier. Guilt, which had been lying dormant the last little while, suddenly propelled her into saying this last statement aloud, though she would never have thought Nathaniel would be the sympathetic ear into which she poured it. She glanced down, unable to look into those piercing eyes any longer, and fidgeted with some twigs that were lying at her side.

"How fond were you of Hayward?" Nathaniel asked quietly. It was a completely unexpected change of subject. And it was the unexpectedness of it, rather than any feelings she had had for Duncan that made Cora's eyes suddenly fill with tears.

The frontierman rose. "I'm sorry. It was not my place to ask that."

"No," Cora said, blinking. "It is a fair question. And..." she glanced up at him, framed by the gray sky and the waving branches of the willow. "...one I've asked myself."

At this, Nathaniel looked very uncomfortable.

"The truth is, I met him only one time. And so I am not grieving for the love I bore him--but rather for the love I might have borne for him." Cora swallowed. It was hard for her to admit this. Even Alice had thought she was deeply in love with her fiancé. That was the way it was supposed to be. And indeed the way it might have been, had she had more time.

Nathaniel was spared from the discomfort of further discourse as in the momentary silence they both heard the thrashing of bushes not too far off. Cora's first instinct was that it was an animal, but Nathaniel didn't hesitate. His gun ready and tomahawk out, he whirled towards the source of the sound. Cora, though she knew he would be furious, darted after him. If he was going to kill someone again it would have to be right in front of her this time.

They broke out of the bushes and, in the still early evening light, saw a young British soldier, dressed in full uniform stumbling rather haphazardly through the wilderness. When he saw them, he paused for just a second and then made as if to dash away, but Nathaniel was after him. "Hold!"

He could not outrun Nathaniel and moments later Nathaniel had caught him. "What is your purpose here, soldier?"

The young man threw a startled look at Cora, who had just drawn up. "I...are you local militia?" He had obviously been running for some time. His uniform was in sad shape and he looked on the point of exhaustion.

"No--civilian. Where did you come from?"

"Oswego. Montcalm has overrun us."

Nathaniel glanced back at Cora and sighed as if he knew she would not listen if he told her to go back. "Your colonel? Munro?"

"Killed in the bombardment," the soldier replied, panting. "They hadn't surrendered when I made it out but it won't be long now."

***

Uncas never slept for very long at a time, or very deeply. For him sleep was more like an underwater adventure, where sounds and sights from the world above the surface were still part of his reality, though blurred by time and space. When he did wake, it was like coming out of the water--a very sudden and sometimes jarring entrance back into the present time. So it was with some bewilderment that when he found himself stirring, he also felt reluctant to wake completely, and when he did, it was almost night. The light of day had faded to a deep blue.

His arm, around Alice, had gone slightly numb. He worked his fingers experimentally until the feeling came back into them, and tried, very carefully, to dislodge her. She murmured in dreamy irritation and twisted her hand into his shirt. Uncas sighed. Actually, it was not unpleasant to be there, leaning against the tree with a spectacular red sun falling in the distance, the now warm soft body of the girl curled against him. Still, it was not quite right, not quite his to enjoy. If Alice had been awake she would certainly not still be in his embrace. He didn't like the sense of taking, participating in, something that did not belong to him.

And yet...

It felt good. He couldn't deny that. Didn't really try to. He had never had a strong interest in any of the women at the wolf camp. His father had urged him last summer already to start thinking about settling down. A young warrior needed a woman, he said. Needed to start his own family. Uncas had resisted. Not that he didn't think any of the girls were appealing in their own way--but they were more like childhood friends to him. And he liked his life with his father and brother just the way it was. So Chingachgook hadn't pushed him. Hadn't yet made it an imperative.

What this had to do with Alice, Uncas wasn't really sure, but there was something about her that made him wonder if it was something like this he was waiting for. Something gentle and fragile. Something with big gray eyes.

He shook off such thoughts with an effort. She was from another world. And the only reason she was lying next to him at the moment was because she had been cold. She'd needed him.

It was nice to be needed.

_Manto_...

_But it _is_ nice to be needed_.

The last remnant of drowsiness he might have been feeling was shaken off as soon as he heard the cry. Animal or human, something had just been wounded.

"Alice." And then he knew. "Your sister."

Alice came awake reluctantly, drawing away from him, untwisting her hand and staring with confused eyes at the growing darkness. "Where..."

"Stay here." He pushed something into her hand and leapt to his feet in almost the same motion.

Alice blinked down at the handle of the knife, but by then Uncas had already vanished.

He bounded through the underbrush with the speed of a young deer, came skidding to a stop only a few hundred metres from their makeshift camp. Nathaniel held out a hand.

Uncas felt his heartbeat slowly steady. All he could see of Cora was her splotchy dress, again reminding him of an inverted hornbell flower as she stood there, swaying, in his brother's arms. Her back was to him as Nathaniel held her, his face taut with control.

With his free hand, Nathaniel made a few quick gestures, in the sign language that he and Uncas had been speaking, along with English and Mohegan, since they'd known each other. Uncas understood. Gray-Hair was dead or captured. The fort was taken. French victory. Say nothing to Yellow-Hair.

Blowing out a silent breath of mingled surprise and concern, he gestured quickly that he apprehended the import of all that, and backed away. Back to Alice. The girl he had been holding just minutes before. The girl who was now fatherless, and unaware of it.

***

It had not been a conscious decision on Nathaniel's part to take Cora into his arms after she cried out. He'd just suddenly found her there. And in the brief moments where he tried to rally his senses and determine in those few seconds what the best course of action now was, the British soldier had disappeared, evidently not wanting to throw in his lot with them.

Not that Nathaniel, who had no particular fondness for deserters, could really blame him.

After Uncas showed up and almost as promptly departed, Nathaniel had a few moments to think. He knew they had to get back into relative shelter. They had to move. If it was true what the soldier had said, and he had no reason not to believe him, it was imperative now more than ever that they get the girls to a place of safety. If a couple thousand-odd French troops along with their Indian scouts were marching their prisoners in the vicinity, they would have a hard time going unnoticed.

"Cora." He took her by the shoulders for a moment, though she resisted and would not unbury her head from his shoulder. "Cora, you must listen to me now. We have to go."

To his horror, she shouted, "Where? Where can we go now that--"

He kissed her. It was the only way he could think of to shut her up given that Alice was still in hearing distance. He didn't want to risk having two women insane with grief on his hands. It was going to be hard enough with just this one. She could slap him if her honor, or morals, or whatever it was that drove her demanded it. He didn't care.

Cora didn't slap him. After a few seconds she broke free, stared at him with a look of complete confusion that he could only just make out now that darkness had fallen, and let her arms fall from around him.

"Alice mustn't know," he said, as gently as he could manage. "Whatever else happens. We must keep it from her as long as possible. Do you agree?"

"Yes," she whispered after a few more moments. "Alice...mustn't know."

"All right." Nathaniel ran a hand through his tangled hair and sent a quick, impassioned prayer for wisdom to the Great Spirit, or maybe the Christian God, he wasn't entirely sure. "Come." He took her hand and led her through the bushes back to the cluster of willow trees.

Alice's face was a pale oval in the darkness. She still sat by the base of the tree, Uncas crouched by her. Nathaniel was infinitely thankful now for the quickness with which night had set, because it released them all from having to control their expressions.

"Uncas." Nathaniel switched to Mohegan. "Brother. We've got to head out. I've got to get to the fort and confirm this. I should be able to make it there by dawn."

"I'm a faster runner than you," Uncas argued. "Let me go."

"No. I need you to take them to the wolf camp. That's the only place they'll be safe now until...until we can figure out what to do with them."

"Alice's foot is hurt. I don't think she can walk."

Nathaniel swore, and crouched down by Alice. "Girl, can you move?"

"I'm not sure," Alice said uncertainly. "I twisted it. Why, do we have to...?"

"Just try standing up." He gave her his arm, and swore again when he could see that she was in no shape to move beyond limping, let alone move quickly.

Cora stood a bit apart from them, a white streak in the darkness, evidently trying to get herself under control until she could trust herself to speak.

"All right." Nathaniel took a deep, steadying breath, forced himself to think. He addressed Uncas again in their shared language. "Camp is southwest of here, right? I'll go there first. Send a couple men with a canoe upriver for you and the girls. Then I'll check out the situation at the fort, and meet you back at camp in a few days."

Cora stepped in then and grabbed his arm. She had a surprisingly strong grip considering how small her hands were. She spoke in an undertone. "I am coming with you."

"No--"

"I'm coming with you, or I will tell Alice."

"Tell me what?" Alice looked from one to the other, trying to see their faces. "What's going on? Why are you acting so strangely?"

"Alice," Cora turned to her sister, speaking in a low steady voice. "The fort has been attacked. Father has been taken prisoner." She looked back at Nathaniel. "Nathaniel and I are going there as soon as possible. You must stay here until you are well enough to walk."

"But--"

"Don't argue with me, Alice," Cora said, continuing to look at Nathaniel. "My mind is made up."

Uncas exhaled, a sigh of resignation. "She's right. Go, brother. Manto keep the both of you safe until we see each other again."

Nathaniel gathered his supplies, slung his bag over his shoulder, shouldered his rifle. "And you, Fox. Take care of the yellow-hair. I'll send the canoe."

Uncas gestured his understanding. Nathaniel paused for a moment, giving Cora time to fling her arms around a bewildered Alice and hug her fiercely, whisper something in her ear. Then she was by his side, everything about her reading determination.

Well, it was going to take a lot more than mere determination to reach the fort. He just hoped she knew that. It was going to take everything she had. Maybe more...


	13. Chapter 13

The sky had cleared, revealing a waning moon. Long after Cora and Nathaniel had vanished into the dark forest, Alice was unable to settle back to sleep, even though Uncas had tried to convince her that it was safe and there was nothing they could do until morning anyway. She was faintly aware of having awakened half on top of him and the embarrassing memory of this kept her sitting primly up against the tree, blanket covering every part of her.

Her mind was buzzing with confusion. The fort had been attacked; their father had been taken prisoner. What did that mean for them? Was it even safe for her sister and Nathaniel to go there? What were they to do now? Perhaps they would have to return to Albany and wait for their father's release. But that could mean weeks more of travel and weeks more of waiting for word. Besides, they didn't know anyone in Albany.

She tried to calm her nerves, but her stomach felt sick with uncertainty.

"Will...will our father be all right?"

Uncas, who was crouched not far from her with his rifle propped between his legs, turned his head, but she could only make out his profile.

"What's going to happen?" Alice persisted.

He took this question literally. "Tomorrow we'll go downriver, wait a while. Nathaniel's going to send a canoe up, then we can get to my people's camp."

"Your people," she repeated.

"Mostly Delaware, actually, but a few of my father's relatives are with them. They're right on the river this time of year."

"They move around?"

"They have their own--little houses--_wikwams_--but over the winter, families find their own hunting grounds."

"Oh," was all Alice could think to say. She was not sure she was going to like walking into an Indian camp without her sister by her side for moral support. Though it appeared that the choice had already been made for her.

"Now go to sleep."

"I can't," she said, with some petulance.

"_Wiyon-ashay, _lie down and close your eyes."

Alice slid down to the base of the tree, drawing her legs up further under the blanket. It helped to keep some of the chill from the ground out. She wondered when she would be able to sleep in a bed again. And then felt guilty for that thought, for where might her father be sleeping tonight?

She eventually drifted off, but not until nearly dawn.

***

A branch snapped back and Cora, whose reflexes had long since dulled, did not catch it with her arm fast enough. It struck her right across the cheek, just missing her eye. The pain did wake her up--she'd been plodding insensibly for the last few leagues, noticing nothing but vague shapes of things that were quite normal by daytime, bushes and rocks and stumps of trees. She hummed a moan, sucking in air to offset the stinging of her skin. Nathaniel backtracked, examining her face. "Sorry. Okay to keep going?"

"Yes," she lied. The last break they'd had was hours ago and had only lasted minutes. Either dawn was finally breaking or the moon was getting brighter; Cora couldn't tell which, but she was just grateful for the fact that she was starting to be able to see. Her dress had gotten multiple new tears in the hem, and there was a cut on her knee, which she was sure was still bleeding, gotten when she'd stumbled into a rock at some point in the past. She feared to think what she looked like; probably a witch, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that they kept going. She knew Nathaniel was going slowly, but she was keeping up, and that was the most important thing. Her father would not have expected this of her, but she didn't care. She needed to know what had happened. Needed to see it with her own eyes.

_Duncan is dead. Father is dead_--_what life is there for a young woman with no husband, no father, no brothers_?

Tears of fatigue and loneliness welled up in her eyes. Nathaniel had already taken her at her word and gone on again.

_You have to be strong for Alice. You know that. _

But not right now. Alice was not here to see, and she didn't care if Nathaniel knew she was crying or not. She wiped mingled sweat and tears off her face with the back of her hand and kept moving. One foot in front of the other. Her feet ached so much she could barely think. For the first time, Nathaniel's moccasins were starting to seem like a good idea. It almost seemed like it might be a good idea to go barefoot rather than endure the pinch of leather and buckle.

_Keep moving, Cora_. _Just keep moving_.

No matter what.

_***_

As soon as it was light, Uncas went down to check their proximity to the river and was relieved to see that, in their search for an impromptu camping spot the night before, they hadn't strayed too far off course--the Mohawk, here calm and placid, was only about a mile to the south. He jogged back to Alice, who was sleeping. He breakfasted on a few pieces of jerky, which quelled the complaints of a stomach that had not seen much in the way of food lately, and re-filled the water flask from a fresh stream. He picked some more blueberries to give to Alice when she woke. He waited.

She didn't wake, and as the maize-colored sun climbed higher, piercing the canopy of leaves, he began to get restless. He knew the canoe shouldn't take more than a couple of hours to get to them. A canoe paddled by a couple of young warriors such as himself could travel two-thirds as fast as a runner. Still, it was hard to estimate exactly, since he didn't know precisely how far their current location was from the camp or how long it had taken Nathaniel and Cora to get there. But he wanted to be near the river so that as soon as the others arrived they could head back down the river to safety.

He was a little concerned about bringing Alice to the camp of his people. Not that he thought she would be anything less than safe--it was possibly better in that respect than even his father's cabin, for they were out of the path of the French and there were plenty of young warriors around to defend should anyone come looking for a fight. Rather it was the fact that she looked so very different from anyone or anything they had ever seen. _Wiyon-ashay_. A fitting name for her, a testament to her appearance. As he stared down at her now he knew that it was not going to be easy for her at the camp, even if her stay there was only for a short time.

The other thing he had to figure out was how she should be presented. Nathaniel would have had enough discretion not to give anyone too many details about the women and their personal history, including the fact that their father was the English colonel. Still, that left Uncas needing to answer the question of why was it his responsibility to ensure their safety?_ I found them in the woods_...while that was true, he didn't think it would stand up to much scrutiny.

Well, he would deal with that later. He knelt by the fair-haired girl's side and touched her shoulder. "Alice."

"Mmm," she said sleepily, blinking at him with purple-smudged eyelids.

"We've got to get down to the river. It's not far."

"Is the..did the canoe come?"

"It will." He guided her to a standing position. "Can you walk?"

Alice slipped her feet into her shoes and tried. "I think so."

"I'll carry you if--"

"I can manage," she said, a little severely. But she did take his arm, and shuffling a little, they left the cover of the willow tree and moved in the direction of the river.

***

Part of Nathaniel resented not being able to move through the forest in his preferred method, which was speedily; part of him argued that even if he were running it would not change the fact that the fort was already taken and Munro was already dead. They just had to establish this was undeniably the case. But it was also a fact that time was not on their side, and if a thousand Frenchmen were marching prisoners through the forest he didn't want the girls to be anywhere they'd be noticed.

Right before dawn broke he knew they were within reach of the Delaware camp at which Chingachgook and Uncas' remaining relatives should be. They were approaching it from the northeast. Glancing back at Cora, he knew it would be better if he could leave her there right now, and go on alone. But he hadn't the heart to desert her.

"All right, I'm going to go down and talk to them, let them know they have to send a canoe up for Uncas and Alice," he told her. "You'd better wait right here."

Cora did not look like she had any objection to this plan. She nodded and sank to the ground in a heap of skirts. "I'll just rest," she murmured.

"I won't be long." Nathaniel considered for a moment, then left his rifle with her--Killdeer was easy proof that she was under his protection on the chance that anyone, soldier or scout, happened by--and jogged down the last mile to the encampment.

He was as well-known and well-received as his brother and father in the camp, and once he communicated the issue to a couple of young braves, one of whom was the husband to one of Uncas's cousins, they were almost instantly dispatched upriver with one of the canoes. That accomplished, Nathaniel shared the news and his purpose in being there with a few more relatives, then headed back up the hill to find Cora. He hadn't been gone more than half an hour but she was soundly asleep when he returned. He surveyed her for a while, considered leaving her, knew he couldn't.

He recalled what his adoptive father had said: _Don't expect too much from the Yengeese.._.

Bending down, he scooped Cora up and, with his burden dangling limply from his arms, set a course for the northwest. A few more days would get them to the fort.

***

Alice, settled into a comfortable natural crevice in the rocks at the side of the river, swallowed another handful of blueberries with rather unladylike zest. She thought for the hundredth time that trip that she would have given anything for a cup of tea and a biscuit warm from the oven. Drizzled with honey...but the blueberries were sweet and mellow, tasting of warm sun in her mouth, and they would have to do for now.

She was glad that her foot did not seem to be seriously damaged. It had given her slight pain as they'd made their way to the water's side, but she thought that rest would soon cure it. She knew she should be glad that all they had to do now was wait for a canoe, and that would mean she didn't have to do any more travelling through the wilderness, but she was not looking forward to a water journey, either. Though where they had crossed earlier had not been bad, the Mohawk was treacherously violent and deep in places; she'd seen as they followed it up. Alice was not eager to renew her acquaintance with it.

Not that she didn't want to get clean. She longed for a hot bath and a new dress, though how could either be possibly forthcoming? Still, if Uncas hadn't been there, she thought she might have risked washing a little at the side of the river, perhaps just in her petticoats, as improper a notion as that was. But with any kind of man present that was out of the question, no matter how badly she desired to be clean. Ladies just didn't think of such things. And the fact that she was even thinking about it at all, just proved to her how badly she really needed to get back to some kind of civilized society.

Looking down at her blueberry-stained fingers, Alice decided that at least she would wash them and her face. Her hair had been kept in a braid ever since the night at the cave and nothing could be done with it, but she would not face any more Indians looking like something to scare small children. They might be dirty, if they liked, but she should not be.

She scrambled out of her sitting spot and moved, partly on hands and knees to save her ankle, towards the rushing water. It was awkward to perch on the rocks and wash, but she managed to scrub her hands, and splash water in her face. Her skin felt better once cleansed of yesterday's grime. Dripping, she was just feeling behind her to prepare to move backwards when Uncas's leggings appeared in her field of vision. "You should tell me if you want to go in the water."

"I don't want to go in the water," Alice murmured, a little resentfully, like a caught child. "I just wanted to wash."

His serious expression was modified into one of slight confusion. "It's not safe. The water is very fast here, and the rocks are slippery. You can wash at the camp. Come."

For the first time since they'd met she perceived his tone as high-handed, as if he were actually telling her to do something whether she wanted to or not, simply because _he_ wanted her to, regardless of whether or not it was safe or made sense. She hesitated, unsure if she was misinterpreting his attitude. While it was natural and she was completely willing to submit to the authority of an older male, etiquette dictated that he at least make an effort to ask instead of command. Perhaps that was only something that British gentlemen understood? Frowning, she shifted on the rocks, uncertain. Something in her knew instinctively that she couldn't expect a native to share her customs, much less the unwritten rules of society, but it still rankled.

His hand was outstretched to help her, as it had been so many times over the past week, but this time Alice didn't take it. She stood up, and, though her ankle protested, brushed past him and stepped carefully over the rocks back to where her blanket was spread out. She knew her back was stiff, and not just from the stays.

Alice was in the right, and she knew it. She sat down, spread her skirts over her knees in a most proper manner and tried to gaze out over the river with a commanding air, as if she knew exactly why she was there and what she was doing.

But she didn't dare look at Uncas.

***

"I should have left you behind."

Cora tried to sit up, but her head ached. Wearily, she opened her eyes anyway. The forest surrounding her looked much like what it had since they'd begun their journey. Green. Brown. Hard. Uncompromising. She put up a hand to her face and touched the welt from the branch that had struck her the night before.

"I had to come," she mumbled, through a fuzzy mouth.

Nathaniel grunted dismissively. "I didn't want Uncas to go through the same thing with Alice, that's the only reason you're here."

"I know." Privately, Cora thought it was a good thing he didn't know her well enough to know that she would never have hurt her sister simply to get her own way, but the threat of it had been good enough, because Nathaniel had obviously believed her when she'd said she would tell. This did not give her much satisfaction, however. She didn't like to feel she was tricking him. But it had been necessary.

She'd been denied the chance to see her fiancé's final resting place; she wouldn't be denied her father's.

"Where are we?"

"North-northwest of Wolf camp," Nathaniel said, knowing that meant little to her. But he didn't know, either, where they were, exactly. It was not as if he had a map to go by, at least not one on paper that he could spread out and he could point to her their location. His maps were internal, and his markers, meaningless to anyone who did not live in this wilderness.

Cora scanned the sky, but it was overcast, and the light was neutral, giving her no indication as to what time of day it might be. Perhaps it didn't matter since they had travelled most of the night and Nathaniel didn't seem to be inclined to keep regular sleeping and waking hours anyway, at least not on this portion of the trip.

Nathaniel handed her a water flask without comment. She drank and while she did not relish the leathery taste of the warm water, it was refreshing nonetheless. "Food?"

She shook her head. Her stomach was empty, but she did not want food. She wanted to keep going.  
"I'm ready," she said, getting to her feet, and only wishing she hadn't staggered slightly as she did so.

Nathaniel said, not unkindly, "You're ready to fall over."

"I am quite prepared to travel, Mr..." she suddenly realized that not only did she not know his last name, she had never attempted to use it until now, and had a passing thought that that was strange. "..sir."

"Eat something."

"I said that I was not hungry," she replied politely.

"And I said that you look about two minutes away from fainting."

"I have never fainted in my life," Cora said, with as much indignance as she could muster, which wasn't very much, considering that she was trying to look completely capable of a wilderness march.

"You, madam, are a liar." Nathaniel looked amused, however, which was better than being angry. "And as much as I enjoy lugging you through the woods--"

"_Lugging_ me!"

"And while you probably weigh a little less than a deer, at least I can put the deer over my shoulders--"

He grinned at her look of shock.

"Sir, really. You have no shame."

"Not much," Nathaniel conceded. "But of good sense I've got plenty." He suddenly sobered, came over to her and rather forcibly set her back down on the ground. "Rest some more, Cora. We'll head out later. And you will eat something before we do."

Cora let herself sink back--her heart had been sent into erratic pounding for a moment because she had been sure for some ridiculous reason that just then when he had grabbed he was about to do what he had done the other night.

_But why would he have?_ _I certainly don't want him to._

_And if he ever tries to again I will have to let him know that he has no right..._

_But he won't. He'd better not._

She talked herself back into sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

A warrior had to be good at waiting.

Because it was all in the timing. Too early, and you missed your chance. Too late was worse than too early.

But he wasn't hunting now, and he wasn't fighting. Or he hadn't thought he was.

The pale-haired, pale-eyed child he'd discovered and promised to protect in the last week certainly didn't look like any kind of opponent he had ever encountered. Sitting there in the rock bed with her tangled braid and vaguely sulky mouth. Uncas knew he'd offended her, but how or beyond that he couldn't guess. He was torn between amusement and irritation, not for the first time on this trip. He didn't want to be too hard on her, like the way he thought Nathaniel was being to Cora. Although that was different, because Cora was clearly stronger than Alice and he suspected she could give his older brother at least as much trouble as he gave her.

Maybe more.

Perhaps he'd gotten too confident. After all, Alice was one of the English, and a woman at that. Not only his polar opposite--they were _more_ than worlds apart. He'd thought, at the beginning of all of this, that the hardest thing would be keeping them safe. Now he was starting to wonder if Chingachgook had somehow known. The hardest thing was going to be keeping her _happy_.

He wasn't sure why that mattered, but he knew that it did.

It was with relief that, in the early afternoon, he finally spotted the crest of the Delaware canoe surging into sight in the distance, and then he plunged into the shallows to meet it, helping to pull the dugout into shore and greeting his relative in the bow, whom he hadn't seen since that spring. "_Nimat_, my brother."

Machque vaulted out of the canoe and grabbed his forearm in greeting. "Uncas." He was a few years older, had a head completely shaven except for a long scalplock, and was bare-chested.

"How is my cousin?" They spoke in Delaware, which Uncas was not fluent in but had picked up from his visits at the camp, which had lasted weeks at a time when he'd been younger.

"Confined," Machque replied, and when Uncas didn't immediately understand the context of this he added, "My second son is on his way. Perhaps a daughter."

They pulled the canoe up to the rocks and set the paddles down. The stern paddler was not immediately recognizable to him, but they exchanged brief courteous greetings anyway and he realized it was Machque's younger brother, who seemed to have had grown at least a foot taller from the last time Uncas had seen him.

Machque turned back to Uncas. "Where's the Yengee girl?"

He indicated Alice in the distance with a jerk of his head. He felt oddly protective in that moment, looking back at her, and was relieved that the other man did nothing but grunt in appraisal.

"Better get her in the canoe," Machque said, surveying their surroundings. "This place may be overrun with French dogs before long."

Uncas went to get Alice, who had a look of extreme apprehension on her face, as she saw the new arrivals, but she willingly came with him. He took over the stern position and put her right in front of him, instructing her quietly to sit still on the bottom of the canoe and not move more than necessary. Machque and his younger brother took their places in the front, kneeling with the ease of those long accustomed to such positions, and they pushed away from shore.

The extra weight was more than compensated for by the fact that they were now going downstream, and since Uncas was fresh, they were able to maintain a good speed. The canoe had been built slim for greater maneuverability, but it sacrificed stability in exchange. As they paddled, the canoe inevitably lurched from side to side, and Uncas heard at least one squeak of fear from Alice as they rounded bends in the river and the canoe sagged to one side.

It was good to be moving again, even if they weren't going as fast as he could have gone on land and on foot. It was good to feel the canoe obey them, to adjust its progress with subtle motions of their paddles and bodies. It was good to be in control.

_***_

Two more nights passed before Nathaniel and Cora arrived near to the scene of the attack on what had been Fort Oswego.

The river, which bypassed the fort and went up into a lake at which Oswego had been at the base of, was occupied with a few small ships and many Indian canoes of varying origins. They had to make their approach cautiously. Cora had been able to tell where their destination was from miles away, from all the smoke.

It had been completely overrun. There was a small number of French troops still moving around the valley, but it seemed that the majority had already moved out, along with whatever English prisoners had survived the attack. The remains of the fort and surrounding area smoldered, a giant canker on the wilderness.

Nathaniel and Cora surveyed it from far away on a promontory. Cora had imagined they would be able to get closer, but she could see now that it wouldn't be possible. Not if they wanted to remain unnoticed. There would be no way to guarantee their safety if they ventured down into the lower-lying lands from here.

"Well," Nathaniel said at last, after they had stared at the distant scene in silence for some minutes. "French victory all right."

His tone was strange and she wondered if he were being sarcastic. She said nothing, merely hunkered behind the large rock they were keeping behind and thought about the ache in her legs, the ache of every bone she possessed. She wasn't sure what she'd expected to feel upon the sight of the overtaken fort. It wasn't as if she'd seen her father's body. It wasn't as if she had any concrete proof he was dead. But the devastation was undeniable, and she felt strangely calm for having seen it.

"What is next, Nathaniel?" she asked quietly. _I have nothing. I will do as you say. I have nothing._

"We go back to the camp of my father's people. Your sister will need you now, more than ever."

_And after...? _she wanted to say, but he did not expand on that, and perhaps he was right. Perhaps tomorrow, or even next week, was just as good as today when it came to deciding on her future.

But she didn't think the passage of time was going to make any of her remaining options appealing. She didn't even know what options she had. Two single women in a foreign country that was currently in the middle of a struggle for power neither of them understood...

"When we get there," Cora said, trying to make her voice steady, "do you think we could make some more tea?"

Nathaniel shot her an odd look and then he chuckled in appreciation and gave her a very older-brotherly slap on the back, nearly knocking her off her feet. "That's the spirit, Miss Munro."

_Except_ _I wasn't really joking_...she thought.

***

The dugout canoe scraped against the pebble beach, along which several others of its kind were lined up. Alice, who had curled up in the bottom of the canoe, came upright with a start, shaken out of the fatigue-induced trance she'd been in. Dogs barked in the distance.

She looked around her. The river had narrowed into one much smaller, perhaps only a tributary, but off to their left she could see it opening up again into a small lake. The shore was heavily wooded, though there was a narrow gap in the trees and beyond them, thin spirals of smoke curled upwards, blending into the pale blue sky of late afternoon. They had come to the camp.

Swallowing her nervousness, she climbed out of the canoe, which the two Delaware men promptly pulled up high on the beach and stowed, and followed them up the path into the woods. She didn't know what she expected to find, and the sight of the camp as they entered, while it seemed more primitive than she'd hoped, there was at least nothing alarming upon first view. Several dozen small dome-shaped huts, that looked to be constructed of natural materials such as wood and deerhide, were scattered about the area. There were tiny patches of various vegetables around many of the huts, and a few outdoor fires. Small children, mostly naked, played in the dust. There were some older women tending to the gardens, and while everyone stared as Alice, Uncas and the two Delaware walked past, she didn't sense any open hostility. She could smell some kind of food cooking as they walked past the fires, and though it was an unusual smell, she was hungry. Somewhere, a baby cried plaintively.

Uncas had a firm grip on her hand, and when he cast a quick glance at her face she tried to smile, but she wished Cora were there.

"How's your foot?"

"I can walk." She _was_ walking.

"I'm taking you to my aunt," he said. "My father's sister."

"Mightn't I eat first?"

"Of course, you're hungry." He called out to one of the women they passed and to Alice's chagrin she leaped up, disappeared into one of the tiny shacks and came back out bearing a piece of yellow bread, which she offered to Alice.

"Eat it for now," Uncas said. "There will be more later."

She was hungry enough to devour the small chunk of bread, which had a sweet taste, and had just managed to swallow the last piece when they stopped in front of one of the wikwams--she had just remembered Uncas' name for them--and had to crouch down to enter.

Chingachgook's sister was well into middle age and had a creased, solemn brown face which did not alter much in expression when she saw Alice. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, which was covered in rush mats, and there was a small fire burning in the very center of the structure, its smoke being conducted upon through a hole in the ceiling.

Uncas's aunt seemed pleased to see her nephew, if not effusive, and the two of them talked for a short time while Alice waited, awkwardly, by the door. She had to kneel because it was the only position that seemed halfway decent. The shelter was too short to stand up in, and she refused to sit cross-legged. The flap that covered the entrance to the wikwam had been left open, and a few people gathered around, looking in at her curiously. They would not meet her eyes, or smile, but seemed to be perfectly comfortable with staring at her. Alice felt her cheeks flush.

Uncas said her name at one point, and she looked back at him.

"Ah-li-su," the aunt repeated.

"It's hard for her to say," he explained, giving her an apologetic grin.

Alice smiled back wanly but she was wondering when the promised food was going to be coming. She was ravenous, and the irritation she felt at the Indians peeping outside was only fueling her hunger.

The older Mohegan woman might have read her thoughts because she looked at her for a short time, then made eating gestures, and before long, more food was being pushed into her hands, this time from a younger girl, about her own age, who came into the wikwam. There was a wooden bowl of some kind of warm bean soup and more of the yellow bread, both of which Alice consumed quickly, using her fingers and not caring if they were watching her manners or not.

Uncas' aunt was, in fact, satisfied that she had eaten it all. "Nephew. Her clothes are in terrible condition. Tell her we will give her new ones."

"I don't think she would take them, Aunt. English women are very particular about what they wear."

"You must insist. That dress is filthy. At least make her take it off so it can be washed."

He stifled a laugh at her directness. "Alice?"

"Yes," Alice said, trying to be polite. It was easier now that she had a full stomach.

"My aunt says...my aunt wants you to put on some clean clothes."

Alice looked so horrified he wondered for a moment if he'd inadvertently said a word that had a different meaning for her than it did for him.

"My cousin, who was just here, her second daughter. She's about your age. She can give you something else to wear," he hastened to explain.

Alice seemed to be struggling with her answer for a full few moments before she said, "That is all right, I am fine."

Uncas relayed this back to his father's sister. "Perhaps later."

"As for you," she said, turning her full attention on him, "when are you going to give my brother some grandchildren?'

"Perhaps...later," Uncas repeated. She had asked him the same thing this spring and he'd been waiting for it.

"It is no joking matter," she said severely. "Your cousin is two winters your junior and she is already on her second."

"Yes, _Nohkumihs_." He angled his head deferentially.

"It is your father I am thinking of. As you should be. Your personal desires have little to do with it," she lectured.

"Yes, _Nohkumihs_. I am a bad son."

For a moment her features softened, and she almost seemed to be about to say something indulgent, then they firmed again. "I have no son, bad or good. So I must keep a close watch over my brother's."

"Uncas," Alice murmured, touching his arm. "I am very tired."

She had faint circles under her eyes, and her skin was almost translucent. "Lie down," Uncas suggested, patting the mats beside him.

Alice looked askance at him. "Right here?"

"Where else would you lie down?"

"I mean...I thought...Mightn't I have my own wikwam?"

He swallowed a laugh. "All of the wikwams have families in them, Alice."

"But I thought--"

"The only way you could have your own wikwam is if you had a--" he started to say husband, then amended "--family...to share it with."

"Oh." Alice looked deflated.

"My aunt is glad to have you stay here," he assured her. "It is the way of my people. She would not understand if you wanted to sleep somewhere else."

"But--"

"Alice." She really was a child, he thought. "Do you want to sleep with me?"

"No," Alice said, shocked, even though it had been virtually what she had been doing for the past few nights. "Where are you going to sleep?"

He rose up on his knees, preparing to leave. "At my cousin's husband's, if she is not there."

"Uncas..." Although Alice wanted to be alone, being left alone with this strange Indian woman was not what she had in mind, and suddenly she couldn't help thinking it would be better to be with someone she knew, even if he was an inappropriate gender. "Does anyone else here speak English?"

"No," Uncas said, and with a smile that he intended to be reassuring, but which Alice misinterpreted again as somewhat patronizing, he withdrew.

***

Something sharp was poking Cora in the back as she shifted position, trying to get comfortable on the ground. Nathaniel had told her to rest for a couple of hours--it was the middle of the night and he seemed to have eyes like a cat's, but she had just been stumbling consistently into things for the last while. As hard and uncompromising as the forest floor was, it was almost always preferable to moving.

She closed her eyes, but found that sleep would not come, tired as she was. Nathaniel was keeping watch a short distance away, his rifle propped between his knees. The waning moon shed a little light on his face, but not enough to see his expression.

"Nathaniel."

"Mmm."

She had originally been going to ask him something about the camp, but she found herself suddenly saying, "How did you come to live with Chingachgook?"

He was quiet for so long she thought he didn't mean to answer. Then he said, "He rescued me from a burning cabin."

"Your parents'?" Cora held her breath as if the mere expulsion of air would erase the intimacy of the moment.

"They never saw the danger in living here, only the beauty." Nathaniel picked a strip of bark from the felled tree he was straddling and flicked it with a long forefinger. "For a while I blamed them for it, but this country was not theirs. I often forget that."

"So you were born here." He was American by birth, English only by descent, she realized.

"Yes. In the same cabin."

"When did...it...happen?"

"I was four." Nathaniel rose, restless.

"I'm so sorry." She imagined the little boy he must have been.

"Well," he said after a while. "You and your sister find yourselves in much the same unfortunate circumstance."

"But we are not young children."

"I suppose."

Cora stared up at the canopy of sky above her, framed by tree tops. A few stars were barely visible in the center; she could see them only when she did not look directly at them. The air was cool and sweet in her lungs, now far enough away to be free from the acrid smoke tang that had hung over the scene of the fort. It was easy enough to see the beauty, as Nathaniel had said, in living here, though it hadn't initially been. She wondered how his parents had been able to view it from the opposite perspective.

"Your mother must have been very strong," she murmured. "I never thanked you for giving me her comb."

"I have little enough to give anyone," Nathaniel said, but matter-of-factly. "It should belong to someone who can use it."

"I haven't used it at all, lately." Cora's observation was rueful.

"You do look rather the worse for wear."

She was too tired, and in too mellow a mood from their serious conversation to take umbrage at this. "You enjoy teasing me," she murmured.

"I confess that I do." Nathaniel sounded amused. "Do you mind?"

"Not right at this moment." Cora surprised herself with her honesty, which compelled her to add, "In fact, I hardly know what to say to you when you are being serious."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"In that case let me be serious. There is something I also should have said to you. Back at the willow tree."

That moment came suddenly rushing back into Cora's memory, and she was infinitely glad of the cover of night. Was he really going to mention the kiss? She had hoped that it would never come up as a topic of conversation.

"I would rather you didn't, Nathaniel," she said hastily. "I am sure there is nothing you have neglected to say to me."

"What I meant was that I should have apologized for my actions. While I don't regret them, I also don't wish to cause you any...needless inconvenience."

"You have not inconvenienced me." Cora squirmed in the darkness. The rock that was digging into her back could not be endured any longer. She sat up, suddenly thoroughly irritated at both her physical and mental discomfort, and sighed in mingled frustration and fury.

Nathaniel heard the sigh and knew she was very close to reaching her limit. It had been a long few days, and she deserved a proper rest, which unfortunately he couldn't yet provide. "Come over here," he said. "There is a mossy patch." He indicated the ground beside him.

Cora made her way over, sinking down into a heap of skirts at his feet with a fatalistic air. Nathaniel set his bag down to make a pillow for her head. "Here. Try to get some rest. We'll head out again in a couple of hours."

He watched, and waited, until her breathing finally slowed and he knew she was asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

In the Indian wikwam, left alone under the eye of the matriarch, Alice found herself incredibly lonely. It was mid-evening, and the light outside was only now starting to fade. The noise of the camp had increased slightly, with men and women's voices mingling together in their strange language, mothers calling children, dogs barking, as people came together for their evening meal.

The wikwam was not very long or wide. If she could have stood up inside it to walk from one side to the other, it would only have taken about five steps. In the center was the fire, with some pots and cooking utensils stacked by it, and towards the back was the aunt's sleeping space. Alice had been given a woven reed mat and a thick moose hide to cover it. She had pulled this over to the right wall, as unobtrusively as possible, and was lying on it now. Someone had brought her blanket from the canoe, which she had been grateful for, because the scratchy long hair of the moose skin was not at all pleasant to lie on.

_Where is Cora tonight?_ Despite her best effort to hold them back, because she was aware that the other woman's gaze was upon her, she felt tears building up in her eyes. The aunt murmured a few inquisitive words, but when Alice ignored her, she moved over to the fire and began preparing something there.

Before long, she was back at Alice's side, with a small wooden cup of something steaming. Alice took it, peering into its contents. Though it was cloudy and strong-smelling, it was tea. She took a sip. The steam only served to further cloud her blurred vision but the taste, though foreign, was wonderful. She clutched the cup for a long time after she finished drinking, and Chingachgook's sister gave her some more.

But she found she couldn't stop crying. Though it was not that she was sobbing, the tears continued to come out. She felt overwhelmed by loneliness and sadness. There was no thought that was safe. Cora, their missing father, England, the comforts of home--each of these thoughts only increased the intensity of her emotions.

The Indian woman now seemed to be talking to herself. She kept up a steady stream of chatter, and while the tone of her voice was soothing, the words meant nothing to Alice and only served to increase her frustration and emotional exhaustion. She bit her lip and tried to shut out the sounds around her. After the days spent in the wilderness, the camp seemed loud by comparison...

Uncas woke early the next morning. He had slept next to Machque, who was a restless bed companion and whose feet and arms had ended up in Uncas's space more than a few times during the night. Tiskemanis, his wife and the older of Uncas's two cousins, had not been there, as she was very close to giving birth and had gone to a separate wikwam a few days ago to await the arrival of the baby.

It was pleasant, even having to listen to the snores of his relative, to be able to lie there on the moosehide mats and look up at the roof of the small hut. Although his permanent home had always been with Chingachgook and Nathaniel in the cabin, Uncas had spent many nights here, and it was, in its own way, also home for him. They knew him almost as well as his own father and brother did. His mother had been a Delaware woman, a member of their camp. When she died giving birth to him, his aunt had urged Chingachgook to take a new wife as soon as possible, but Chingachgook had left the camp and gone out on his own.

He heard the padding of bare feet outside and a pair of slim brown legs appeared beyond the tent flap. "Are you awake?"

"Little weasel," Uncas murmured, rolling over. "Your sister's husband was kicking me all night."

She squirmed into the wikwam and regarded him with dark solemn eyes. "You ought to have kicked him back."

Machque mumbled something incoherent and sighed, still half-asleep.

"Come have breakfast," Sanquen said.

He followed her outside, yawning, and went to the trench beyond the wikwams for a moment before re-joining her. "How's Alice?"

Sanquen glanced up at him soberly. "She cried most of the night."

"She did?" He felt a sting of guilt. Perhaps he shouldn't have left her...

"I couldn't sleep because of it. Mother says she is very weak."

"She's been through a lot, 'Quen. You be nice to her." Uncas stretched and stopped beside the communal pot of food in the center of the camp. There was always something available for public consumption there, whether it was maize, beans, or another kind of soup, depending on what game had been caught recently. Only some of the wikwams had their own personal fires, but the rest of the families usually gathered around the main pot, which various women took turns tending, and partook of that. Uncas dipped a carved ladle into the bubbling mass and drank a mouthful. It was wonderful if for the only reason that it was the first hot food, not jerky, he'd had in days.

Sanquen took the ladle from him and helped herself, and they passed it back and forth companionably for a while until both had had their fill. A few other members of the camp appeared while they were there, and exchanged greetings with Uncas and expressed their relief that he was back safely. It appeared that everyone already knew of the yellow-hair's presence in the camp, and that Nathaniel would be coming back with the dark-hair before long. They were curious, but Uncas explained that he did not have time to talk, that Yellow-hair was not well and must be tended to, and should not be disturbed by visits from anyone she did not know, as that would only cause her to be more upset. He knew this wouldn't keep them away for long, but he hoped it would be enough of an interlude to give him more time to come up with answers to further questions.

He and Sanquen escaped, and he sent her off with the directive to find some clean clothes that Alice might be persuaded to wear, and then he stopped by his aunt's wikwam.

Alice was sleeping when he looked in, but the place was otherwise empty.

Uncas entered the wikwam, crouching by Alice's side. Her hair had come undone again and spilled over the moosehide, its long lightness mingling with the coarse short darkness of the animal fur. She looked young, young and exhausted. Her arm was flung out, palm upturned, with fingers in the natural curve they had when relaxed. He took her hand for a moment, thoughtfully, feeling the slow pulse in her wrist. Her hands were cold. "_Wiyon-ashay_," he muttered. "You're going to get sick, cold all the time."

"A winter child," his aunt said, appearing. "She must be fed well and kept warm. When does her sister come?"

"Can't say for certain. Another night, maybe." Uncas, un-selfconsciously, cupped Alice's cheek with his palm.

"They will stay here until it is safe?"

"Yes." He gazed at the fan of lashes that edged her closed eyes. "Until they are capable of moving on." He didn't add that he doubted that would be any time soon.

"Your father. Does he know that you've taken them under your protection?"

"He knew we were bringing them to the English fort, which has since been taken."

Alice stirred then, shifting against his hand.

"Wake up," he said to her. "I want to show you something."

***

By the second afternoon after they'd left the destruction of Fort Oswego, Nathaniel seemed to have slowed their pace a little. Either that, or Cora was finding it easier to keep up with him, but she suspected it was the former and not the latter. He stopped more frequently for breaks, and when they did stop he let her rest longer before moving on. His attitude had become one of careful watchfulness, and she hadn't seen him show impatience with her yet, for which she was thankful.

They were running very low on their supply of jerky, as Nathaniel had only brought enough to last a little beyond the fort. If he had been alone he would have made it to the camp long ago. Now, they only had a few pieces at dawn and again at the end of the day. Cora was altogether tired of the tough meat and would have given her portion to Nathaniel but he insisted she eat it. A few times they had crossed through small wild raspberry patches along the way, and had eaten a few small handfuls' worth of the tart red fruit, but there had been nothing else. Drinking lots of water helped a little, but not much. Nathaniel was worried that Cora was not going to have the energy to make it the last day. He estimated they had at least six hours' ahead of them, and they would reach the camp by nightfall that night if they pressed on.

As if she had read his thoughts, Cora asked, stepping around a patch of brambles, "How much farther do we have to go, Nathaniel?"

The fatigue clearly read in her voice.

"Mmm...we can be there by tonight, but no more stopping."

He glanced back at her. Her hair was a wild tangle--she even had leaves and twigs in it from the last nap she'd taken on the forest floor. Her dress looked as if she had been wading through a muddy pond. Which they had, at some point.

"No more stopping," Cora echoed. "All right. I can do it."

"You sure?"

"I don't want to spend one more night on the ground if I don't have to. And I want to see my sister." Alice had never been far from her thoughts in the past few hours. How was she surviving the Indian camp on her own? Was Uncas taking care of her? What would they find when they did arrive? Food....tea... She thought hungrily and hopefully of the possibilities.

"She will have been fine, Cora. I told you that you did not need to worry about her."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know my brother. Neither of us take burdens lightly." He realized a second after he'd said it that he should have chosen another word. Cora stopped, and he could feel the heat of her glare even without turning.

"Burdens?" She didn't wait for him to explain, then she gave a short laugh and stepped by him. "That is right, I suppose that is all we are, now, but burdens on you. I hope and pray we will not have to be for long, however."

"Cora, that is not what I meant." He followed her down a twisting, sloping hill side, his moccasins finding their way easily over the slippery rocks. "You are too quick to take offense."

"And you are quick to give it," she replied, her voice harsh with strain and fatigue.

"Granted. Watch where you're going--"

"My eyes are open!"

"Yes, but I think you're too angry to see anything." He caught up with her and grabbed her elbow, spinning her around to face him. "Calm down, woman."

"I am perfectly calm--"

"Cora." He took her and pulled her into a rough, bonegripping hug. "It's all right. Take it easy."

Her body shook as he held her, trembled with the force of emotion that was sweeping over her. Her arms hung, limply, at her side. She refused to hold him back. He smiled crookedly into her tangled, smoky hair, aware of how stubborn she was, amused by how stubborn she was.

"Let me go, please."

"Just breathe for a minute."

"I am breathing."

"That's not breathing, that's panting. Breathe. In and out. Deeply." He demonstrated. Cora glared at him for a moment and then imitated his inhalation and exhalation. "Now will you let me go?"

He released her. She wavered for a moment on the incline, then found her footing again and proceeded down the slope, irritation in every line of her body.

Nathaniel went after, reflecting rather good-humoredly that there was a good reason he lived in a cabin with two other men, far away from this type of female.

***

Alice had been following Uncas down a forest path for a short time, her mind still going over the dreams she'd had before waking, not really paying attention to anything they were been passing. She was actually glad of the activity; anything to be out of the wikwam, whose confined and occasionally smoky space had given her a headache. Or maybe it was just all the crying of last night. But out in the open air, her head was starting to clear a little.

She had been focusing on Uncas' sturdy back ahead of her, and almost bumped into him when he came up short and pointed through the trees, off to the left. "Over there."

She blinked. The forest opened up into a pretty little U-shaped glen, mossy rocks competing with each other in high piles, with a stream running straight through the center of the U, dividing it into two parts. The stream was not big, but, halfway along, it dropped steeply over a rise in the ground, creating a tiny waterfall only about six feet high and a small pool at its base. Sunlight shafted through the trees and sparkled on the surface of the water, which foamed and bubbled in the pool before spilling down into the stream. It was picturesque.

A little uncertainly, she followed Uncas down to the waterfall's edge, where he stopped and waited expectantly, cradling his rifle in the crook of his arm.

"What..."

"You wanted to wash, didn't you? It's not very deep."

"But--I can't." Though she was tempted. She really wanted to scrub off the dirt and sweat from the past week.

"Why not?" He set his rifle down for a moment and crouched by the waterfall, running his hand under it. "Not too cold..."

"Ladies do not...ladies do not wash in front of gentlemen." She blushed. Not that the subject had ever come up, but she couldn't really conceive of bathing in front of anyone other than her sister.

He looked at her with a perfectly bland expression. "I am not a gentleman, Alice. I am a Mohegan warrior, and I will not go off and leave a woman unarmed and unattended. Even if no one is around, there are always animals."

She felt oddly shamed by this, not least because she knew it was true.

"Very well, but...you may not watch me."

Uncas' face remained unruffled, and he gazed out over the forest with a calm, unthreatening mien.

Alice, after a little longer, sat down on the bank and removed her shoes and long stockings. She had never gone barefoot before, not since she was a very small child, and had been shocked to see that it seemed to be commonplace among the Delaware--Uncas, Nathaniel and Chingachgook had all worn moccasins. For a few more moments she hesitated, eyed Uncas, then slipped her feet into the water at the base of the fall.

The water _was_ cold, but almost immediately refreshing to her overworked feet. Alice wriggled them for a while, then, growing slightly bolder, inched her way close to the edge so that her dress began to get wet. The falling water helped to beat some of the mud out of the lower parts of her skirts, and she bunched them in her hands and scrubbed, getting it clean.

As she got accustomed to the temperature of the water, she slid all the way into the pool, holding her breath as her body left the security of the shore, but Uncas had been right--the pool was not deep, and as her feet gently hit the bottom, it only came up about as high as her waist.

The sound of the waterfall was relaxing, as was the early morning birdsong, and helped to alleviate some of her self-consciousness, which gradually began to fade as she grew accustomed to the feeling of being there. She leaned back against the bank and, after a minute, rested her head against it, letting her skirts float up and the bottom half of her body float, though she was careful to keep her legs and toes decently under her dress while she did so.

A woman's neck and even some cleavage might safely be exposed, and indeed fashion dictated that dresses were cut low to a certain degree in the front, but feet and legs were not meant to be seen by anyone except their owners. Alice had seen Uncas's younger cousin as they left the camp that morning and had noticed she wore skirts that came only to knee-length, but her entire upper half had been swathed in a fitted buckskin jacket, with long sleeves. _Very strange that they should cover the parts they might leave uncovered, and go about with bare legs and feet!_ Well, that was why they were savages, she supposed.

"You're getting leaves in your hair," Uncas observed, bringing her out of her thoughts with a jolt. He leaned over and plucked a twig from the back of her head.

His fingers lingered there for a moment, even though Alice had instantly tensed at his touch. In the sunlight, her hair was the color of fresh silk on the maize plant, so different from the coarse black hair of his people.

He was not really a creature of impulse, but at this moment he yielded to one. Standing, and stripping off his woodsman's shirt, he was in the pool beside her before Alice had a chance to react and do much more than squeak in alarm. Then she jumped back nervously, like a deer that had just spotted a wildcat. Her grey eyes were distrustful. "You shouldn't..."

Uncas sank into the water, letting it swell up over his shoulders. The coldness was sweet, taking away all the vestiges of the night's sleep. He ignored Alice. After a few minutes, she relaxed a little, though she kept a wary eye on him.

A little time passed, like that, with them both in the water, Alice trying not to look at Uncas, and Uncas purposefully ignoring her. The sun was warm on his skin.

"Someone might come," Alice said. She was standing now. "I need to wash my hair."

"Need help?"

"No." Her cheekbones deepened with colour again. Carefully so as not to lose her footing, she moved closer to the waterfall and, angling her head, let the flow of water course over her and down her back.

Uncas watched now in unashamed appraisal, as Alice's eyes closed in brief enjoyment of the natural, honest pleasure. But it was only for a few moments, and then he returned his focus to their surroundings, always aware of the need not only to keep an aural but visual lookout. It was never a good idea to let oneself become completely vulnerable to attack, no matter how deserted the area seemed to be. He climbed out of the pool, dripping. The brief soak had made his skin tingle, and he used his shirt to dry off his arms, shoulders and chest.

"You're staring at my tattoos," he remarked, without looking at her.

"I was not," Alice said, but she sounded mesmerized. "It is not polite to stare."

"I don't mind." Uncas tossed the shirt down. He had a clean one in his hunting bag, back at the wikwam.

"Where did you get that?" Alice asked.

He followed her eyes to his wrist, which was encircled by the golden bracelet he'd taken off a fallen Iroquois during a raid a few years ago. He doubted she'd really want to hear the story, though, so he merely said, "I found it," which was, in principle, true. "Alice, you're getting cold. Time to get out."

The sun had gone temporarily behind some clouds and in its absence, she was, indeed, beginning to shiver. He came back to the edge of the bank and extended his hand. Awkwardly, hampered in no small way by her sodden skirts, Alice clambered up onto solid ground and stood there, shedding a fountain of water that poured down from the base of her dress. Uncas wondered what the point of so much fabric was--it seemed like from her waist down there was nothing but layer upon layer of skirts. No wonder they moved so slowly through the wilderness.

Alice spent a few moments trying to wring some of the water out, but it was something of an exercise in futility.

"Come," he said, giving her chin a gentle chuck with his thumb. He thought she might be annoyed, but to his surprise she responded with a very tremulous smile.

They made their way back to camp. Sanquen was waiting for them by the wikwam and could barely hide her amusement.

"Quen," Uncas said, gesturing for Alice to go in and his cousin to follow and assist, "find her something else to wear. Something long. Englishwomen don't show their legs."

"Why, is there something wrong with them?" Sanquen said cheerfully.

He ignored this. "Hurry up. I don't want her to get sick."

Sanquen disappeared after Alice. Uncas went to Machque's wikwam, changed into his other shirt--a dark blue tunic--and, as he was digging through his bag, remembered the Iroquois scalp, which needed to be properly dried. He took it outside and hung it over the tent pole as temporary decoration. It would bring his cousin's husband good luck on his next hunt.


	16. Chapter 16

The sky was incarnadine, a mass of purples and pinks streaked together around the descending sun when they drew close to the Indian camp. A Delaware met them on the way in, and Cora was far too exhausted to refuse his help over the last mile or so, while Nathaniel went on ahead.

Uncas joined him at the outskirts of camp. "Brother. How was it?"

"Fort's been leveled," Nathaniel confirmed. "We need food and Cora needs sleep. How's her sister?"

"Our aunt and cousins are looking after her. Better bring Cora to their wikwam. You look like a dead catfish."

Nathaniel clapped him across the shoulders. "Well, we can't all have pretty faces like you, Fox."

They all crowded into Chingachgook's sister's wikwam then. Alice was asleep in the corner, buried in skins and her blanket, and Sanquen busied herself getting food for the newest arrivals. There were beans and plenty of cooked maize from the communal pot, even a little fire-smoked fish that had been caught earlier that day.

Nathaniel and Cora both ate ravenously, although Cora's head was starting to nod from fatigue even as she brought food to her mouth. The wikwam soon grew warm from all the bodies crowded within, and as darkness fell outside, Cora crawled over to her sister's inert form and lay down beside it, passing out into sleep almost within minutes. Their aunt brought over a soft buckskin and draped it over.

"The dark-hair is stronger than her sister," she said. "Still, you should have brought them here together."

Nathaniel and Uncas exchanged looks. "She's stubborn, too," Nathaniel said. "I would have had a fight on my hands."

Their aunt made grunting sounds of disapproval. "A woman does not argue with a man."

"You do, _Nohkumihs,_" Uncas put in, taking issue with this bit of blatant falsehood.

"When I was young I did not."

Nathaniel said nothing. He was not as close with Chingachgook's sister as she was with her blood nephew. It was not that his adoptive aunt had ever been unkind to him, but since he was a child she had treated him with a distant civility on the occasions that Chingachgook had brought the two boys, later young men, to the camp. Most of the other Delaware regarded Nathaniel as one of their own and treated him no differently than they did Uncas, but he had always sensed that his aunt could never quite forget his white heritage.

He took another swallow of boiled maize and wondered what the next few days were going to be like, now that they were back together. Under the eye of the camp, certainly under the eye of his aunt.

He had a feeling he was not going to enjoy them.

"I'm ready for sleep too," he said.

"We're in Machque's wikwam," Uncas said. "Tiskemanis just had a baby this afternoon."

"Did she?" Nathaniel had not much experience with babies and rather distrusted them as a result. But that was fine, as it was Delaware custom for the mother and child to be confined for the first couple of weeks after giving birth. "Good for her. I thought she already had one."

"That was last year."

"Mm." Nathaniel set down his bowl, which Sanquen hurried to clear away, and backed out of the tent, making a formal bow of acknowledgment to his aunt for the hospitality as he did so. Chingachgook had always insisted on manners as being an essential part of a warrior's standards for decency and honor, and it had become natural.

Once within the walls of their cousin's wikwam, Nathaniel pulled off his moccasins and shirt, though the night was cool, and stretched out on the deerhide mats with a sigh. It was something of a relief to be free of the feminine presence. He suspected Uncas felt the same way. A large part of their lives had been spent only in each other's company, and the dynamic of two women introduced into the relationship was unsettling.

"So what do we do with them now?"

Uncas's quiet question dovetailed into his thoughts.

"I don't know," Nathaniel said after a few more moments of silence.

"It's pretty certain that Munro is dead..?"

"Certain as we can be without seeing his body." Nathaniel grimaced up at the roof of the wikwam. Based on the destruction of the fort, there wouldn't even _be_ a body.

"They came from Albany," Uncas mused.

Nathaniel groaned at the prospect of more woodland travel with the two women. "That's too damn far to take them without horses. Even with horses it'd take a month--"

"_Ciwi taqôquw_.."

"...and it's almost fall, I know."

They were both silent for a while.

"Father will likely be here soon."

"Mmm," Nathaniel said drowsily, understanding that Uncas meant they might as well postpone the conversation until then, or they would just be having it all over again when Chingachgook did arrive. He rolled on his side, pulled a deerhide around his shoulders and fell quickly into sleep.

***

Alice woke later than usual in the morning to find her sister next to her, soundly asleep. For a moment she was shocked by the older woman's condition--Cora was ragged, dirty, and clearly worn out to the point of exhaustion. But she was infinitely glad to see her. She gave her sister a quick rapturous squeeze around the shoulders and then sat up.

They were alone in the tent. Uncas's cousin and the older Indian woman were early risers, evidently. She heard the thin wail of a newborn baby, wondered if she had imagined it.

Peeling back the blanket, she examined her outfit with some distaste. She had had to take off her dress, petticoats and shift yesterday, and they hung drying by the fire. Sanquen had given her a soft but shapeless buckskin robe to wear in the interim, and Alice had had no choice but to get dressed in it, even though it came indecently to only about mid-calf. She hadn't left the wikwam all day yesterday, unable to face anyone wearing such a thing.

Now, she crawled over to the fire, found that her stockings were dry, and quickly put them on. Thus attired she felt a little better, though she still felt positively naked without a shift.

But at least she was clean.

Cora snored gently on the moosehide, one arm pillowing her head, her other arm outstretched slightly. Her fingers were curled around something and Alice curiously took her sister's hand in her own and gently pulled the fingers apart to see what it was. The comb that Nathaniel had given her.

Alice took the comb, and, moving to sit by Cora's head, began carefully to start to comb out the parts of her hair that she could reach without disturbing her. Cora's natural curls combined with days of travel rendered this task difficult, but it gave her something to do. She concentrated on separating the hair into strands, and making sure each strand was smooth before she set it aside and started in on the next one. She loved having her own hair combed, and there was something soothing about the act of doing it for someone else.

She heard steps outside the tent and when moccasins appeared in her sight of vision, she felt an odd twist of disappointment in her stomach when their owner turned out not to be Uncas, but Nathaniel. He knelt down by the opening. "Morning, Alice." He looked a little older than she remembered, but maybe that was tiredness.

"Good morning," she murmured, quickly tucking her legs under her. "Thank you for bringing my sister back safely."

"Not at all," he said, as if amused by the properness of this sentiment. Alice found it unnerving the way she could never tell if he was mocking her or not. She decided she far preferred Uncas's serious way of speech. Something about Nathaniel was...hard. She did not dislike him, but she didn't know how her sister could have spent so much time with him alone.

"Where is Uncas?" she said, and for some reason, upon Nathaniel's searching glance, immediately felt her face heat.

"Outside having something to eat." Nathaniel's dark eyes were too knowing. She ducked her head, focused on Cora's hair. "Oh."

"Come out and have something yourself."

It wasn't a question. Still, she protested, "But I am not properly dressed."

"You look fine."

Alice unwillingly uncurled herself from her position, pressed Cora's comb back into her hand and rose. She _was_ hungry.

Outside, the sun was high in the sky; she was guessing it was already mid-morning.

Uncas was by the common food pot with a few other of the men, and they were exchanging a few words in the Delaware language which sounded almost exactly the same to Alice's ears as Mohegan did. As Nathaniel, Alice following timidly after in an attempt to hide behind him, drew up, all of them, including Uncas, turned and stared at her.

For a moment she had a childish urge to run back to the wikwam. She tried to stand taller and look as if she didn't care.

Nathaniel grunted. Alice did not know how or whether it were possible that grunts in and of themselves could be some kind of communication, but maybe they were, because Uncas first, and then the other Delaware, after another moment, looked away and continued talking. One of the men--she realized now that he was young, maybe about her own age, though he was tall and solidly muscled--in a rather deferential way handed her the ladle brimming with soup. Her first instinct was to reject it. They had all been eating out of the same thing, which offended her sense of hygiene. But they were also all waiting for her to take it.

After a moment, she accepted the ladle and had a taste of the rich boiled maize, looking up at the man who'd given it to her under her lashes. She realized now that she recognized him. He'd been one of the paddlers in the canoe.

Uncas said to her, "That's Machque's little brother. His name is Nachenum. Raccoon."

The young man, hearing the Anglicized version of his name, gave her a little head-bow of greeting. Alice was torn on how to respond. One could scarcely curtsy to red men, but on the other hand she had been brought up with better manners than to ignore a friendly overture either. At last she smiled back at him.

"We're going fishing today," Uncas said, "and it's getting late." He switched to Delaware, which sounded curt in comparison, and shortly after that, with scarcely a backward glance, the three warriors departed in the direction of the river, leaving Nathaniel and Alice still standing by the fire pit.

***

Cora awoke, conscious of pain in almost every fiber of her being. She knew that sleep had left her, but she did not yet feel rested. Her eyes were open, but she could not see very clearly.

Shifting, because her hipbone was digging into the ground in a very uncomfortable manner, she let out a tiny but heartfelt moan, and for just an instant, tried to recall where she was. Then she did. They were at the Indian camp, or as Nathaniel and Uncas referred to it, the wolf camp. Sunlight created a small triangular patch of light on the ground by the entrance.

It was strange to hear the sounds of people. Strange to hear the high-pitched laughter of children, the guttural utterances of a foreign language, the barking of dogs.

She became aware that she was not alone in the tent. A solemn-faced Indian woman, middle-aged, was sitting by the fire, cross-legged, watching her. Her gaze was not critical, but neither was it approving or friendly. Upon seeing that Cora was awake and moving, the woman called outside. A few moments later, the slim Indian girl Cora recalled having seen the night before, the one with glossy braids and long bare legs, poked her head in, said something and disappeared again.

Cora struggled into a sitting position and rubbed her neck. She wanted to smile at the other woman, but her expression did not seem to encourage it. A few awkward moments passed before Alice appeared, with Nathaniel holding the animal-skin door flap open and looking in with apparent uninhibition.

"Sister!" Alice dropped to her knees and grabbed Cora's hands. "How did you sleep? How are you feeling?"

"Alice." She mustered up enough energy to hug the other young Englishwoman back. "I am all right, just in need of...a bath," she said, giving Nathaniel a rather defiant stare. If he would insist on sticking his head in other people's houses uninvited, he must be prepared to hear such details. "And something more to eat."

Sanquen was already there with food; she seemed able to move with the speed and silence of a ghost on her bare feet. Cora ate hungrily, ignoring Nathaniel, who continued to crouch by the entrance and calmly observe her, in the same way that the older Indian woman was doing.

Alice reached out and tucked a strand of Cora's hair behind her ear with an almost motherly air. "I was so worried about you."

"And I you," Cora said, slightly bemused at her sister's newfound confidence. "But Alice...what _are_ you wearing?"

Alice glanced down at herself for a moment, her braid falling over her shoulder. "Oh--while my dress was drying, I needed something to wear. It's awful, I know."

Cora laughed in startled agreement, and the two giggled for a moment, rocking together almost hysterically, at the oddness of the situation.

The older Indian woman exchanged meaningful looks with the younger one.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. "Cora, this is my aunt. Chingachgook's sister," he clarified. But he had amusement in his eyes that belied his rather stern tone.

"Very nice to meet her, I'm sure," Cora murmured, and licked out the leavings from the bowl.

"Cora!" Alice was shocked.

Uncas and Nathaniel's aunt gave her one more disapproving look, and then, muttering something, rose and shuffled out of the tent. Sanquen looked like she wanted to stay, but Nathaniel said a quick word to her and she went reluctantly after.

"Do you suppose they have another one like that for me? While mine is getting washed?" Cora said, and began to giggle again.

"Cora--" Now Alice was beginning to look concerned. She glanced back at Nathaniel for support.

"Right," Nathaniel said, sighing. "Getting washed. Good idea. You look like you've..."

"Been tramping through the forest for days," Cora interrupted. "I know, thank you, Nathaniel."

"You can wear my dress until yours is washed and dry." Alice gave her a quick hug.

"Where should we go? The river?"

"No, Cora, there's a lovely place--" Alice excitedly broke off in mid-sentence, glancing self-consciously back at Nathaniel, upon whom this was not lost. His gaze sharpened. _He resembles a hawk sometimes_, Cora thought. _An elegant...or perhaps that should be arrogant--hawk_.

"Uncas took you up there?"

Alice looked at him and then back at Cora, her mouth moving but no sound coming out. "I--we--"

"Just the _two_ of you?" Nathaniel demanded.

Cora rolled her eyes at him, realizing what Alice did not, which was that he was purposely taking on the role of older brother, acting as if he thought there had been a serious breach of propriety. For some reason, she did not interrupt. She felt a touch of pity for Alice, who looked panicked, but on the other hand, if it were true, they certainly should not have gone off anywhere together unsupervised. Alice should have known better than that. The events of the past week had been an exception, but now that they had rejoined society--as different as this society might be, it was still civilization in comparison, and there were other people and other people's tongues to consider--they would have to uphold and abide by at least some of the standards they had been brought up to.

So when Alice wrung Cora's hand pleadingly, begging for a little sisterly support, Cora gazed back at her with level eyes. "What is it that Nathaniel means? Where did you go?"

"May we not talk about this in private?"

"Miss Munro," Nathaniel said coolly, and for a minute Cora thought it was his old appellation for her, but he meant Alice this time--"What you do here ceases to become private and becomes part of the public domain. So I _will_ ask you to explain yourself. Particularly considering my brother seems to have had a part in it."

Cora thought he was overdoing it and that he might have stopped. She would have by now. Then again, the memory of Uncas and Alice sleeping together under the willow tree flashed unbidden into her mind. If Alice were scared of what repercussions might come from too many unseemly associations, that would in no way be a bad thing.

Alice had withdrawn her hand from Cora's, sensing she was getting no support from that quarter, and folded hers in her lap, kneeling like a supplicant, her eyes downcast now and two bright smudges of color on her cheeks.

"I'm waiting, Miss Munro."

"We didn't do anything wrong," she said, in a tiny voice.

"I should hope that you did not."

"We just...bathed and came right back to camp." Alice raised her eyes now and Cora saw just a small flash of rebellion in them. Which she could understand, because after all, Nathaniel may have been older and a man, but he was still not a relative of theirs.

She decided now to intervene. "Well, then, if it is as you say it is, Alice, no harm has been done and you have no reason to be ashamed. Nathaniel is just asking that you be cognizant of the effect your behavior may have on others. Come, Nathaniel, you may show me where I am to go."

She gathered herself up, bundled Alice's dress into the blanket, and headed out with Nathaniel.

"I hope this place is not far?" she asked his back as they walked out of the camp and began to follow a trail heading north.

"Just a matter of moments," he replied. "You are still sore from yesterday."

"Indeed." It didn't occur to her to deny it. She rubbed her back with her fists as she moved slowly after him. "I have had my fill of walking through the wilderness for the time being. Do your people not have horses?"

"The Delaware don't, no. The land here is not suited to it. If we go south, we run into grasslands and some of the other tribes who occupy those lands have pack ponies." Nathaniel paused for a moment to heave a fallen sapling out of the path and toss it into the undergrowth, then continued on.

"Don't you think you were a little hard on Alice?"

He shot her a glance over his shoulder. "You think I was?"

"Well, I can't deny that she shouldn't have done what she did, but still.."

"I wasn't serious, you know."

"Yes, I realized that." Cora spoke rather severely. "But she thought you were."

"I know. Sensitive thing, isn't she." He paused for a half-beat and added, "Like her sister in that respect."

"Very amusing, sir." But she did smile, couldn't help it.

"Here we are." Nathaniel cut off the path a short way and, knocking back branches, gestured with his hand. "What do you think?"

The glade was indeed lovely, and Cora liked the way it was sheltered.

"Well," Nathaniel said. "I'll stay here by the path. You go on down. I wouldn't want your sister to think I was a hypocrite." He grinned at her.

"All right." Cora shouldered her bundle and began to make her way down to the little waterfall.

"Yell if you need any help, or see anything."

"I shall be sure to."


	17. Chapter 17

_note: the story of Rainbow Crow is not original; I assumed it was part of the public domain, but if it's not, then I'm certainly not claiming to have invented it._

The dam had been constructed of small saplings, several inches thick, woven tightly together with vine and dried rope to make a long rectangular box-like shape that spanned the river at a narrow point. It allowed water to flow through, but any river debris got trapped in it, so it had to be cleaned regularly to allow the passage of water.

It also trapped fish, and this was its main purpose. Once fish swam through, they were caught in the center and could not swim back out. The river had plenty of fish, and the Delaware depended on it as a main source of food. At least twice a day, morning and evening, men from the camp usually checked the trap and could bring back as many as half-a-dozen fish of varying sizes.

Uncas had a woven net for transporting them back. It already held two. He'd rescued them squirming from the trap and used a sharp rock to kill them. They now lay iridescent and damp in the net, their blank bulbous eyes staring at nothing. Sanquen would gut and prepare them later.

Back at his father's in the mountains, they rarely had the opportunity to eat fresh fish. The stream near the cabin held a few small ones, but none in any quantity. In the summer season the men usually brought back from the camp as much as they could carry, then dried and salted it for winter consumption.

Machque was near the opposite shore, knee-deep there where the river ran shallow just after the dam, and Nachenum was near the middle. They were pulling handfuls of river debris out of the dam, as the rains of the previous days meant that more cleaning than normal was necessary. The shaved heads of the brothers glistened cleanly in the sunlight.

The warriors had shed their leggings, and were barefoot, wearing only breechcloths. Uncas still had a hard time believing that Nachenum had grown so much over the summer. He was as tall as Machque now, with shoulders wide enough to carry a buck across.

"Nachenum," he called across the water. "What are they feeding you?"

The young man straightened self-consciously. "Nothing out of the ordinary, brother."

"Well, stop eating so much." Uncas picked up a flat chip of rock and sent it skipping across the water in his direction.

"That's why we're going to be here all day," Machque called back, capturing another trapped fish in the tail with his long fishing spear, deciding it was too small, and flipped it downriver. "My sibling would eat half a dozen at one sitting if we let him. And now we got two new women to feed, but they don't look like they eat much."

Nachenum shot Uncas a curious side glance. "So where are their men?"

"Their men?" Uncas repeated. Due to the difference in language, he wasn't entirely sure how to interpret this. "They don't have any men."

Nachenum looked puzzled, and Machque translated, "He means they're single, you idiot. Mateless."

"The older sister had one, but he was killed by Huron last week. The younger one--" Uncas hesitated for just a second. He had almost used his nickname for her in his own language. _That_ would have been a mistake. "The yellow-hair," he said, altering his words slightly, "is too young."

"Right age for Nachenum," Machque said cheerfully, but gave Uncas a very direct, searching look when he said this.

Nachenum seemed embarrassed. "Except we couldn't understand one another. And I don't think she knows how to cook."

Machque's expression suggested that he was about to make a completely ribald remark, which Uncas quickly forestalled by joining them in the water. "Are we going to fish, or are we going to chatter like squirrels?"

His cousin's husband tossed him the spear, which he caught in mid-air. "Fish," said Machque, with a gleam of humor in his black eyes.

***

Evening had fallen upon the wolf camp. The fishermen had returned with a net full of fish, which had then been distributed amongst the different families of the camp.

Nathaniel had spent the morning in leisure with Cora at the glade, while she took her time washing and soaking in the pool, and she had, under the cover of the bushes, managed to dry off and change into Alice's clean dress before they came back to the camp. The afternoon had been spent in simple relaxation, recovery from the hardships of the previous week.

Most of the camp's members had already retired to their wikwams for the night, with a few women still making last-minute preparations for the next day's outdoor work around their spaces, but the four of them, and also Sanquen, Machque, and Nachenum were still sitting around the communal fire, finishing up their feast of fish and coal-baked cornbread.

Sanquen moved around making sure everyone had enough to eat--she was restless and rarely sat still for more than a few moments at a time. Machque and Nachenum were on one side of the fire in their habitual crouch, firelight glittering off their bare chests. Uncas was near them, and Nathaniel was on the other side of the fire, with Cora beside and slightly behind him.

Alice sat almost in the shadows, beyond Cora. She must have stayed in the wikwam all that day because Nathaniel hadn't seen her since his lecture that morning. But she didn't seem to be sulking, just chastened. He wanted to communicate to her that he was not angry, but she refused to meet anyone's eyes.

It was a beautiful summer night. Above them, the slender moon was slowly climbing to the center of the inverted bowl of midnight blue that was the sky, with stars carelessly scattered across it.

One of the hunting dogs trotted up, sniffed the air suspiciously, then deciding that no one there was a threat, flopped down between Machque and Nachenum, its gaze remaining alert although its body relaxed. Nathaniel tossed it the last, deboned piece of fish he'd been eating, and it caught the scrap with an adroit snap of its jaw.

"Nice night for a story," Nathaniel commented, breaking the silence.

He and Uncas had grown up with Chingachgook's stories, of course, and on nights like these, there was nothing better than to sit outside and hear one. Just when he thought he'd heard them all, Chingachgook would come up with something else--one that his grandmother, or his uncle, or someone else had told him many years ago.

He wondered if Cora and Alice knew any stories. Probably not. The Delaware had hundreds, though, and as they had no written language, the details had to be committed to memory, and with each repeating, the details became stronger.

"I'll tell one," Machque said. "If you think you're up to giving them the English version."

"Uncas can," Nathaniel said confidently. "My Delaware is pretty basic."

Uncas looked alarmed. "So is mine," he objected.

"You've spent more time here than I have," Nathaniel told him in Mohegan.

As this was true, Uncas couldn't refute it. "I'll try," he said, glancing at Cora and Alice.

"What are you saying?" Cora wanted to know.

"Machque's going to tell us a story and we were just arguing about who's going to translate," Nathaniel said, giving her a crooked grin.

"I hope it's a nice story," Cora said, sounding dubious. "No beheadings or..."

"I can't make any promises."

Machque, who was not at all shy and rather enjoyed being the center of attention, launched into the tale.

"Slow down," Uncas protested. "Mm.... This is the story of _Menukon-Ahas_, Rainbow Crow. Rainbow Crow had wonderfully colored feathers and a beautiful singing voice. All the other animals loved his feathers and song. The weather was very cold for a long time, and all the animals were cold. They wanted to know when the sun would come back. So..." he paused, poking the fire with a stick while he considered. Machque kept talking. "So, the animals decided to send a messenger to Manto, the Great Spirit, the Creator, to ask when they would get good weather again." Uncas frowned into the fire.

Machque finished up a very long, elaborately constructed sentence and looked expectantly at him.

Nathaniel snickered.

Uncas gave a reluctant grin, still gazing into the fire. "Rainbow Crow offered to be the messenger and make the journey to the Great Spirit. It was very...long and troublesome. But the Great Spirit rewarded him for it with the gift of fire. He carried the gift of fire back to his people, the other animals, in his beak."

Cora, and even Alice, were listening attentively now, their eyes going back and forth from Machque's animated strong features to Uncas' serious ones.

"But he was not the same bird as when he left. The fire burnt his feathers black, and the smoke from the fire made his voice rough and..." Uncas tapped his throat. "Strange. The animals were very glad of the gift of fire, and thanked Rainbow Crow, but he was sad because he was no longer beautiful and sounded bad. Then the Creator said to Rainbow Crow, 'Rainbow Crow, do not be sad. See what I have done for you. No man will ever put you in a cage to listen to your voice or look at your feathers. Nor will man ever hunt you, because your flesh will taste scorched.' This was all true, but Rainbow Crow was still unhappy.

"So the Creator said, 'And look very closely at your feathers. So Rainbow Crow did, and when he looked carefully he saw that within the black, there were all the colors of the rainbow, still glittering. And the Great Spirit said--" Uncas paused for breath--"The Great Spirit said, 'Everyone who sees you now will be reminded of what you gave to your people, the service you did for them. And it will never be forgotten."

He stopped. Machque, who also had finished, with a flourish, looked at Cora and Alice.

"Mmm," Cora said. She seemed relieved. "Yes. A nice story."

"Does she like it?" Machque wanted to know.

"She said you're the greatest storyteller of all time," Nathaniel said blandly.

"_You_ are the greatest storyteller of all time." Machque threw a bit of bark across the fire at him, and from his crouch rose in a lithe motion. "It's getting late. We'll leave you to admire the moon a little longer." He departed, and Nachenum followed.

Cora stirred. Alice had been mute the entire evening, and with just the two couples left, the atmosphere had become too intimate to bear for much longer. "We should go in as well."

"I'll walk you to the wikwam," Nathaniel said, rising. He noticed that Uncas gave him an enigmatic look but didn't move from his position by the fire.

"Good night," Cora said, looking back at Uncas, and giving him a polite smile, which, Nathaniel thought, was her way of thanking him for the story. That pleased him, and evidently Uncas too, for he smiled in return. "Goodnight, Miss Cora."

Alice ducked behind her sister and Nathaniel walked the two of them as far as his aunt's wikwam. "See you in the morning, ladies," he said, giving a perfunctory bow.

"Good night, Nathaniel." They went within, and he returned to the fire pit, to stay up, and think, a little longer.

***

Chingachgook's sister snored gently. Alice had been listening to it for the past hour.

She was very, very close to smothering the woman with her blanket.

Rolling over, she glared into the fire, which was smoldering, much like her own temper. Sanquen was sleeping, too, as was Cora, but neither of them was making as much noise as the aunt.

It had not been an easy day. First, there had been Nathaniel's reprimand in the morning, the memory of which still caused her to squirm. Then, Uncas had vanished to go fishing with his Delaware friends, without so much as a word to her after he'd introduced Nachenum. Not that she would have gone fishing with them in any case, but he might at least have asked her if she wanted to. She had endured a long, hot afternoon in the wikwam with nothing to do and nobody for company but the stolid Indian aunt, while Cora napped, and had only come out earlier in the evening for dinner. She had enjoyed listening to Uncas's story around the fire, but again, during that whole time he had not said one thing to her. After she had gone to bed she wondered if he might be angry with her, although she couldn't think why, but as the night deepened and she remained sleepless she began to realize she was angry with _him_. He had no right to...to just ignore her like that. After everything. After the nights in the wilderness together when he had always been right there, an arms' length away.

Alice balled up a bit of the blanket in her fist, fighting back tears of frustration and irritation. She didn't know quite why she was upset and did not want to look too closely into it. All that she knew for certain was that Uncas had no right ignoring her.

_Maybe Nathaniel said something to him. Told him not to talk to me. Nathaniel can't tell any of us what to do._

_He is not _my_ brother, at least, and never will be._

Why_ did Uncas ignore me all day?_

Cora's back was to her, and suddenly Alice had had enough. She sat up, pushing away the blanket, and, moving on her knees, made her way to the entrance of the wikwam, checking behind her to make sure Sanquen and the aunt remained sleeping.

Her heart pounded, but she slipped outside.

Standing up, she almost immediately felt better. The moon was high overhead, and the sky glittered with stars, much more brightly than they had shone earlier. For a moment she just stared up at them, breathing in the cool clean air.

Then she moved quietly through the sleeping camp. She didn't know where she was going, exactly, but she had to get away. A few of the dogs raised their heads as she walked by, and one or two growled in warning disapproval, but none barked. Which was good, because she might have fled back to the wigwam if they had done so. But it was silent.

After a few moments of hesitation on the outskirts of the camp, she took the path that she had first come up the day they had come there, from the river. It was well-worn and easy to follow even though moonlight was her only illumination. She only stumbled once when the ground dipped suddenly and caught her balance before she fell, then resumed her walk. Shadows danced as she moved, but she ignored them. The last week in the wilderness had taught her that nothing looked by night as it looked by day and whatever she thought she saw could not be trusted. _Nothing_ could be trusted, she thought bitterly as she came to the river.

The forest opened up to the rock beach, upon which the canoes had been pulled up. The river water shone black and uninviting, and yet, oddly, it beckoned to her. It was a pathway, after all. The closest thing to a road, out here. For a crazy moment, she wondered what would happen if she got in a canoe and let herself float away.

Probably nothing. Uncas wouldn't even have noticed she'd gone. She enjoyed this self-indulgent thought for a moment and then sighed.

Besides, she was still slightly scared of water, not being able to swim.

By the treeline, Alice spotted a larger rock amongst the pebbles and boulders that made up the shore, and it had a twisty tree winding upwards at its base. She picked her way across the rock bed to it and sat down on its rough surface. The tree made a nice thing to rest against.

Out here, she could at least breathe.

Though he'd been in the middle of a dream, all it took was Nachenum's hand on his shoulder for Uncas to awaken. "The yellow-hair," the other man murmured.

Uncas sat upright, shaking off sleep like a mantle. "What?"

"I saw her go down to the river not long ago."

Nathaniel and Machque slumbered on, not stirring. Uncas rose, pulled on his shirt and grabbed his tomahawk out of habit--his knife was always belted at his side--and came out of the wikwam. Nachenum looked rather sheepish. "I thought you would want me to wake you. She shouldn't be out there alone."

"_Wanishi_, _nexisemes_." Uncas patted him on the shoulder and passed him by. "Go back inside."

As he jogged down the path towards the river, though he knew Alice probably was not in any immediate danger, he couldn't help but feel a flash of irritation. She ought to know better by now. Their particular area was all Delaware hunting grounds and it was not likely that any French or English would have ventured into it without their warriors knowing well in advance, but still. There were wild animals--wolves, even the odd cougar had been spotted before--and women, or at least these women, seemed to have a way of finding trouble even when it wasn't looking for them.

His annoyance was temporary, however, dissipating when he saw her form. She was sitting on a rock with her knees drawn up to her chin, a pose he'd noticed she adopted when she was cold. There was a slight breeze coming off the river, though it was only a touch chilly.

Uncas watched her for a moment, knowing she didn't know he was there. She sat very still; the only movement surrounding her was that of her hair, which, moving in the wind, danced around her shoulders and face like a curtain of rippling wheat. She looked oddly natural wearing the buckskin dress now. He found himself wishing she would continue to wear it, if for no other reason than it was less obvious than her English clothing. Then again, it did nothing to disguise the fact that she was white--white everywhere--her hair was like a flag that would be spotted for miles. One would have to chop it off...

The thought of someone touching Alice's hair made his stomach twist unexpectedly. He remembered what he'd promised himself, way back at the other river, in those first few days of travel. _I will keep you safe. For as long as I can...as long as you will let me_.

No. Longer than that.

"_Wiyon-ashay--"_

He had called her that before. Irrationally, Alice felt fury that she did not know what it meant. It was not polite to give someone a name when they did not know its meaning. But she was so startled just at hearing his voice that she almost fell off the rock. Primly, she drew her legs up under her.

"What are you doing here?" he said, sounding confused.

"I couldn't sleep." Oh, so _now_ he was talking to her.

He approached, tucking his tomahawk into his belt, the blade catching the moonlight as he did so and gleaming. He stopped at her side. "You should stay in camp."

There it was again, that almost high-handed tone she'd heard before. Perhaps it was only the contrast with the way she knew he could talk to her, so tenderly.

"Everyone tells me what to do. I am not a child." She would not have dared to say this back in the wilderness but now, here in the Indian camp, where she felt utterly stifled, and especially after the day she had endured, it _would_ be said. She gazed up at him defiantly.

"I know that." He crouched down on his heels so that they were more level. "It's not safe for a woman either." Uncas reached out for her hand, but she pulled back, knowing that her eyes were glittering with hurt tears, but unable to keep them at bay.

"Alice--"

"Why did you come out here?" she demanded.

"Nachenum saw you and told me."

"Why didn't _he _just come?"

The young Mohegan hesitated, as if the thought had occurred to him as well. "I think he's scared of you."

Alice, despite herself, was pleased by this answer. Uncas sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with the back of his thumb. "_Manto, Wiyon-ashay_, sometimes I know what that feels like."

"Why do you keep calling me that? What does it mean?" Petulantly she kicked the pebbles scattered in front of her.

Uncas looked at her without saying anything. Her words seemed to hang, to echo in the still night air around them. Then he pointed up at the moon. Alice followed the movement. Slowly, then, he reached out, and with his knuckles, grazed the skin of her cheek.

Moon-skin...

His touch was like a conduit of warmth. It always had been. Alice felt something--the anger, the petulance--breaking in her, as surely as if he had swung an axe and chopped a block of ice. She could almost feel herself splintering. Yet it was not the feeling itself that alarmed her--it was that she had no way to understand it, no way to make it make sense. He should not have been anything to her.

But he was.

_What_ is _he?_ _What can a....a savage_--she thought it defiantly--_possibly be to an educated young Englishwoman, daughter of a colonel, like myself_?

An ocean separated them. An ocean of differences.

Why did water seem like it could so easily be bridged?

Uncas's fingers lingered on her face. He smelled of the forest. Pine trees and campfire smoke.

Because she needed to say something, or become irretrievably lost in such distracting, dangerous thoughts, Alice blurted, "How long will we stay here?"

"As long as you want."

That was not the answer she had expected. "What do _you_ think we should do?"

Uncas considered this, then said finally, "It is not my decision to make."

"Nor mine," she flung back.

"We are both younger siblings," Uncas agreed. "But neither is it completely my brother's and your sister's choice, Alice. When our father comes--"

"He is coming?"

"Within the week, we expect. But you should know that whatever is decided to be best for you, it's likely you'll still be here over the winter." He looked apologetic as he said this.

Alice ran her hands along the sides of the rough buckskin dress in frustration. "Your aunt doesn't want us here."

"That is not true. She has welcomed you."

"A strange welcome."

Uncas shrugged and said gently, "Yes, I do not know how it would be done in England, but she_ has_ welcomed you, and here you will be safe."

_I don't want to be safe. I just want to understand. And be understood_.

He stood up, and drew her with him, but he must have been expecting her to resist because she rose so suddenly that she brushed against his chest. For a startled moment they stood like that, in an awkward half-embrace. Then Uncas's arms folded around her, and he pulled her in, close. Alice's face bumped lightly against his shoulder.

"Don't--" he said against her ear. "Don't go anywhere alone. Promise me."

"I cannot," Alice said, wriggling, but not in any genuine attempt to get free. It felt wonderful to be held so close, if a little overwhelming. And suddenly, indignance asserted itself. "Who are you to ask me to make such a promise?"

He took her forearms and held her away from him for a moment so he could see her face. "I also have made a promise. I have sworn to protect you."

"I didn't ask you to," Alice muttered, a little sullenly.

"Yes, you did. Do you want me to stop?"

Alice let her body go limp, relaxing in his grip. He staggered back to offset the movement, so that neither of them fell. And then, he seemed to understand that she could not answer in words, and her yielding physically in that manner was her way of responding to his question.

She felt his hand on the back of her head then, not exactly caressing, and for a second she thought he was about to do something that she hadn't yet decided herself whether or not she would allow him to do, but then he muttered something in his native language, squeezed her in a bone-crushing hug and released her almost in the same instant.

"Let's go," he said, his voice a little rough, turning away.

She did _not_ understand.


	18. Chapter 18

After the uneventful passage of a few days, Cora was feeling much better and beginning to believe that she had almost completely recovered from the strain and fatigue of the extended travel. Sanquen kept a kettle of tea by the fire, the same strong-smelling stuff that Nathaniel had brewed for her back at the cabin, and Cora drank cup after cup of it, preferring it to water as her body's way of getting its daily liquid. It seemed to give her energy, but just the physical act of sipping the tea was comforting; it brought her back home. She did not require anything other than to sit in the wikwam; she had no desire to venture outside and do any exploring. She had seen enough of the wilderness for the time being.

It was clear that Alice pined, however. Which was odd, because in England, her younger sister had always been the one to stay home by the fire with a cup of tea, while Cora roamed the outdoors at will. Here in this strange colonial land, their positions seemed to have been reversed. Something was different about Alice anyway and Cora could not tell exactly what it was. Alice would not talk to her, though she tried to initiate a conversation on multiple occasions. It might have been the inhibiting presence of the aunt, who was usually there, but this did not make sense to Cora since it was not as if they could be understood. When pressed, Alice said merely that she was tired and needed to rest, although they did nothing _but_ rest.

***

Down on the beach, Nathaniel was helping Machque and a couple of the other men repair one of the dugout canoes, when Uncas approached him. It was an unseasonably hot day, considering it was the end of summer, and the men wore only breechcloths as they worked under the sun.

It was not his younger brother's nature to prevaricate and so Nathaniel was not that startled when Uncas simply came right out with it. "I think the women need their own wikwam."

He said it in Mohegan, so Nathaniel, eyeing his Delaware brothers, who made no comment, responded in kind. "They not getting along with Aunt?"

"Or she's not getting along with them. I don't know. I think they need their own space."

"Hm. I suppose it's not a bad idea." Nathaniel was taking into consideration the fact that _he_ would not want to live with his aunt on a daily basis either. "Not very traditional though."

Uncas shrugged. "Everyone already knows they're different."

"That's true."

"There's an empty one, it needs to be repaired but I think it'll do if we have a look at it this afternoon."

Nathaniel grinned at his brother. "You were going to go ahead and do this even if I thought it was a bad idea, weren't you?" He did not add what he had already realized, which was that he knew Uncas needed something purposeful to do, and also that he suspected it was for Alice's benefit more than Cora's. Not that it mattered. Amused, he said, "Sure. I'll give you a hand after we eat."

***

Cora was attempting to sew a tear in the skirts of her dress, which she had recently changed back into. She was finding it a frustrating proposition using the unwieldy bone needle that Sanquen had provided her with, and had stabbed her finger more than once trying to force it through the cloth without making too large a hole. Alice sat silently by, gazing at the thin spiral of smoke from the cookfire that was kept at a slow burn throughout the day. Cora glanced at her now and again, wondering if it were possible that Alice knew or suspected what had happened to their father, despite their best attempts to keep that information from her. That would surely be an understandable reason for her melancholy, although she didn't see how Alice would have found out.

"I wish we had our trunks with us," she said impulsively. "If only we had been able to bring them..."

The trunks, which had been left in Albany on account of their size and weight and the impracticality of toting them by horseback through the frontier wilderness, had been filled with most of their things from England. Not only clothes but hats and accessories and jewels--whatever they treasured from their home, they had brought with them on the trans-ocean journey. Then again, much of it wasn't suited for this wild land, but they had had no way of knowing that at the time.

Alice gazed at her a little dully, then, seeming to rouse herself with a conscious effort, said, "Yes, I should have liked to have my books."

"It would have been nice to have something to read from at nights," Cora agreed. "I suppose it will be a long time before we have such a chance again."

"I suppose it will."

Cora let her needle rest in her skirts for a moment and they both stared at the fire for a while, lost in their separate thoughts.

"Ladies?" It was Nathaniel, just outside, and she felt a quick, ridiculous jolt of happiness to hear the sound of his voice bringing her back to the present. "Can you come out for a minute? Something to show you."

They looked at each other, and Alice even smiled hesitantly. It was hard to resist the allure of that phrase, particularly delivered in the tone of voice that indicated the speaker knew whatever it was he had to show would appeal to his audience.

They exited the wikwam and followed Nathaniel to the east end of the camp, where they saw Uncas working on lashing a section of deerhide over a small structure that was set just a little bit away from the rest of the homes, near one of the multiple paths that wound in and around the camps.

Nathaniel gestured. "Your new residence, misses Munro."

"Really?" Cora started towards it.

"Uncas said only married people could have their own wikwams..."

"Alice, don't be ungrateful." In an undertone Cora demanded, "You don't want to keep staying with their aunt, do you?"

"No," Alice conceded with some reluctance.

"You'll have to arrange the inside to suit yourself," Nathaniel said. "Home-making is a woman's job, even the building of it. You're lucky Uncas and I weren't busy with something else more important today."

Cora couldn't quite tell if he was teasing or not. He sounded serious. "Thank you," she said, turning to him. "Really, Nathaniel. This will be much better for us. And for your aunt and cousin too," she hurried to add. "I think we were beginning to get in their way."

Uncas finished weaving grass stalks in and around the bent saplings that made up the structure's frame and anchored the skins to it. "Won't know how well it keeps rain out," he cautioned.

"Is it really a woman's job to build this?" Alice stopped beside the wikwam and touched the slim wood and hide pensively.

"Women are better," Uncas said, giving the frame an experimental shake. "More patience."

Cora noticed the look that passed between them; it lasted only a few seconds before Alice glanced away but suddenly she wanted to slap herself for being such an idiot. She looked at Nathaniel quickly to see if he had seen it, but he seemed to be inspecting the flap that served as the door and his expression hadn't changed.

She felt an irrational urge to laugh though she knew there was nothing really funny. She had come all the way from England to marry a soldier in this forsaken wilderness these people called home. And now it seemed that her baby sister was developing an attachment to one of the natives.

_Oh, Alice. My beautiful, foolish golden-haired girl!_

***

Sanquen trotted along beside Uncas, looking up at him with her curiously bright black eyes. They were both carrying an armful of deerhides and skins to bring back to the new wikwam.

"Why did they move?" she wanted to know. "There was lots of room, and I tried to be nice, like you said. Was it because of me?"

"No, Quen, it's just...complicated."

"What is?"

"Women."

"I'm a woman and I'm not complicated."

"You are not complicated and," he said, avoiding her side kick, "you are not a woman, either, not yet."

She gave a squeal of indignance and disgust.

"I still need you to help out, even though they're not staying with you. Understand me?"

Sanquen shrugged agreeably. Her moods, like her body, were incapable of staying in the same place for long. "What do you want me to do? Bring them food?"

"Yes, but help them to do things, too. Teach the older one how to make that tea she's always drinking."

"Easy. Even if she's stupid."

"She's not stupid."

"I know, but I mean, it is easy to make tea, even if you're not good at learning things. And what about the yellow-haired one, what should I teach her?" She gazed up at him guilelessly.

Uncas thought about that for a moment and could think of nothing to say. Though he could imagine Cora learning how to do at least a few things that the other Indian women did around camp--managing children, tending the fires, cooking or doing any one of a hundred small tasks related in some way to food gathering and preparation--he was having a hard time picturing Alice involved in any of it.

"I don't know," he said at last.

"It would be easier if I could speak their language. How long will they stay here?"

"I don't know."

"There is a lot you don't know," Sanquen observed. He switched the bundle of deerskins to his other side so that he could reach out and give her a gentle clip across the head, but she ducked. "Mother says she is too attached to you."

"What?" He almost dropped the armful.

Sanquen gave him a curious look. "Nothing."

"You just said--"

They had come to the wikwam. Cora was outside, kneeling on the ground, making a pile of small stones and other detritus. Her cheeks were flushed from the activity.

"Here," Uncas said, setting down the burden. "For your floor."

"Thank you." She gave him a tight smile. He sensed the constraint and wondered what it was about. "Where's Alice?"

"Gone to the stream to wash our blanket." Cora indicated with her head. The camp women used the river for a lot of their washing, but there was also a small stream beyond the cornfield, not far away. Uncas could see Alice now, see the light shape that was her dress.

"Quen, give her a hand with the skins," he said, and, knowing that both of them were watching him, headed off towards the stream.

Alice was struggling with the water-logged blanket when he got there. She looked pale and miserable and as if she was getting sick. He hoped not. They were enough trouble when completely healthy. "Let me."

He'd surprised her and she moved with the skittishness that always reminded him of a startled deer. "I can manage," she said, but he took one end of the blanket away from her anyway and began to wring some of it out. Dirty color bled into the ground.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Alice, unexpectedly, blushed. "Yes. Fine."

They finished wringing out the blanket and he took it from her and started back to camp. "I...I didn't thank you," she said, awkwardly, following him along. "For making the wikwam for us."

"It was already there," Uncas pointed out. "It's just weather-safe now. Maybe."

"Well, I still want to say thank you. I do appreciate it."

They drew up in front of the structure, and he was about to look around for a place to hang up the blanket to dry for her when Nachenum came running up. "My uncle's been spotted about a mile off; he should be here very soon."

These were not welcome words to Uncas, who, though he'd been expecting to hear that any time now, was not looking forward to the reunion just yet...

***

"Welcome, my father." Nathaniel stepped in first and embraced the older man warmly, thankful to see he had made it to the wolf camp with no mishap. Chingachgook did look tired, but that was to be expected after half a week of travel.

"I have already heard the news of the fort's defeat," he said, the lines in his face adding to his look of weariness, as he went to set his bag and rifle down, though Nathaniel quickly shouldered them and they walked together toward's his aunt's wikwam. "What of the Yengee women?"

"They are here with us. I was at the fort myself. It's pretty certain that their father is dead."

Chingachgook considered that. "And where is my blood son? Why is he not here with you to greet me?"

"I'm not sure." He had in fact seen Uncas earlier, but he had disappeared shortly thereafter and he was not with Machque or Nachenum.

Entering the wikwam, Nathaniel following behind, Chingachgook greeted his sister and niece.

"It is good to see you, brother. Sanquen, bring food for your uncle, he must eat," she added. "It has been a long time since you last came to the camp."

Chingachgook was not abashed by the pointedness of this observation. He said merely, "When my sons did not return, I knew they must have stopped here."

"Yes. They brought the white women with them." His aunt shot Nathaniel a rather sly sideways look as if she was aware of something he wasn't.

"Well, not to keep," Nathaniel supplied. "It's only temporary. They have no other place to go."

"If they have no other place to go, how can it be temporary?" she demanded.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. She was in an argumentative mood, clearly. "_Nohkumis_, they have lost everything, and it is not asking much for us to give them a little space and food until--"

He realized Chingachgook's eyes were on him, too. "Until," he said, summoning his thoughts and speaking with an authority he did not necessarily feel, "they can go back to the world they know."

"That time may be farther away than you realize." Chingachgook accepted the bowl of beans and squash that Sanquen put deferentially before him, thanking her with an approving chuck--he was fond of his niece. "Autumn is upon us. It was in the air these past nights. The leaves are starting to fall. It will not be long before the first freeze."

"We can still travel in autumn."

"Yes," Chingachgook agreed, "but it will not be easy. How was your journey here?"

"Not especially eventful," Nathaniel said, thinking of the night at the cave and the ambush of the Huron scout and three French. "Uncas only got one scalp out of it."

Chingachgook helped himself to a hearty ladle of beans. "Where is he?"

"Doubtless with the yellow-hair," Nathaniel's aunt said. "They are always together."

Chingachgook looked at Nathaniel for confirmation of this claim. Nathaniel found himself speechless, torn between laughter at his aunt's snideness and yet bound by a sense of fairness towards his younger brother. "Alice is not strong," he said, by way of explanation. "Uncas is simply trying to help."

His father and aunt grunted almost simultaneously. "And you," Chingachgook said, poking him in the ribs with a strong brown finger. "What have you been trying to do?"

"I have only been doing what I should--keeping everyone safe." Nathaniel raised his palms in a defensive gesture. "It has not been easy. I said that our journey was uneventful but the truth is, if I never have to take a woman through the forest again I shall be more than happy."

Chingachgook chuckled then. "I knew that before you left."

"Yes, I believe you did, although I'd like to know how."

His father scraped out the last of the bowl and looked thoughtful. "All women are trials," he said at last, through his sister's dismissive expulsion of air.

They heard familiar footsteps outside and Uncas knelt at the door of the wikwam, holding the flap behind him. "Father." He bowed his head and remained kneeling, as he should until he was acknowledged. Chingachgook, sitting cross-legged, had his back to him, however, and did not immediately move or indicate that he had heard him.

Nathaniel met Uncas's eyes for a moment and threw him a quick sympathetic glance. He remembered a similar situation happening to him when he had gone through that awkward phase just out of childhood--he'd failed to be there when his father came back from a hunt, and had shown up several hours later. For this bit of filial rudeness, Chingachgook had ignored him for a week. The memory still hurt, sometimes. At the time Nathaniel hadn't understood why what he'd done was so wrong.

Their aunt's eyes glittered in the firelight as she looked from one face to the other. Sanquen tried to catch her cousin's gaze as Nathaniel had done, but he was looking down now, and she was unable to communicate her own private sympathetic message.

"Father," Uncas repeated quietly, his black head bent.

There was silence in the wikwam for a few more minutes. Nathaniel saw Chingachgook's jaw tighten for an instant and then his face softened. He turned and looked behind him. "Uncas, my son."

Relief wrote itself over the young Mohegan's features, and he came forwards on his knees, accepting his father's hand on his head for a moment before Chingachgook turned back to the center, but it was enough. Chingachgook was not angry.

Nathaniel, feeling a twinge of jealousy, had to remind himself that his lesson had been harder to learn because he had been so much younger at the time.

"Now that Uncas is here, and I have eaten," Chingachgook stated, "you must summon the Yengeese. We will talk."

He met his brother's eyes and in their black depths saw clearly the question there: _So soon_?

"_Nay, Nohsh_," he said respectfully, rising to leave the wikwam, and finding himself hoping the girls were in a tractable mood tonight.


	19. Chapter 19

The interior of their new home had taken them the better part of the afternoon to finish to their satisfaction, but it was finally done. There was a space for the fire in the center, and a proper smokehole in the roof, and the dirt floor was completely covered with rushes from the stream side. Normally the rushes would have been dried and woven together to create a mat, like the one they'd seen in the aunt's wikwam, but they hadn't time or the knowledge to do this and Cora hadn't wanted to sleep directly on the skins on the ground. On top of the rushes, on either side of the fire, they had arranged skins and hides to create beds that they hoped would be comfortable enough for long-term sleeping.

Though it looked very primitive, Alice did prefer it to staying in someone else's space and she was not finding the air so difficult to breathe so far. Of course, night had not yet come.

They heard what sounded like a rumble of thunder outside and Cora looked up uneasily. "I hope it's not going to rain again."

"If it does, we will at least know whether the roof is waterproof like Uncas said." Alice was idly re-braiding her hair, using her fingers to straighten and comb it.

She felt her sister's gaze on her after she said this, and looked across at her after a few moments. Cora's dark eyes were shrewd.

"What?"

"Alice, I must ask you something..."

They had become attuned to listening for sounds after having followed the men's example for the last little while and Cora paused, her sentence fading away. "Hello?"

"It's Nathaniel. May I?"

"Yes."

Nathaniel held up the wikwam door flap. "Are you getting things organized to your liking?"

"Yes, thank you."

"My father has just arrived. He's been journeying non-stop and is doubtless tired, but he'd like to speak with you."

Nathaniel's tone was deliberately deferential but Alice, finishing off her braid with an irritated twist of her fingers, knew that he was only asking for the sake of appearances. It wasn't really a request they could turn down.

Cora smoothed down her dress self-consciously. Alice finished tying her hair with a bit of twine, and they followed Nathaniel back to his aunt's wikwam.

"Is my face clean?" Cora murmured to Alice as they drew up to it.

"I can't see." The light of day was fading fast. "I think you'll do. We've met him before, anyway. We don't need to go to great lengths to impress an Indian, do we?"

"When he has a hand in deciding our future, we might want to." Cora bent down after Nathaniel and followed him inside. With a last longing sigh at the dark blue sky, Alice did so as well.

All eyes turned to her, she felt, as she sank to her knees and spread her skirts out in front of her. It was impossible to sit down in a ladylike manner since the wikwam was so low overhead. The fire was burning brightly, and cast shadows on the faces of the occupants.

Uncas, his father, aunt, and cousin were all in attendance. With the arrival of Nathaniel, Cora and Alice, there was very little free space. They had to sit in a circle around the fire, so close that each could touch the person sitting next to him or her. Alice was between Cora and Nathaniel. All the others sat cross-legged, but she and Cora had not been able to find that position comfortable and so they shifted between either kneeling or sitting with their legs tucked sideways under their dresses.

Chingachgook reached around Nathaniel for Alice, and she, startled, was unable to help drawing back. He took her arm anyway, ignoring her stiff resistance, and held her wrist. He said something in Mohegan, and then added in English, "Your blood runs weak, and there is no color in you. Have you been sick?"

"She is fine," Cora objected, and Nathaniel said soothingly, "They are still recovering from the journey, Father."

Alice tried to pull away, but Chingachgook's fingers might have been made of steel, so unrelenting they were. Uncas's aunt said something that seemed disparaging, and Uncas, glancing at Alice, replied in a few quick words.

"It is rude to discuss someone when they cannot understand." Cora took Alice's other hand possessively.

Nathaniel said, "That's true, but if you want to compare my father and aunt's manners to those of English gentlemen and women, we might be here all night."

Chingachgook ignored this. "The pale-hair looks sickly. She may not even make it to Al-ban-ee."

Alice barely had a chance to take umbrage at this comment because it seemed that everyone seemed to say something at the same time. Nathaniel and Uncas both spoke loudly in Mohegan, while the aunt began to babble and draw with her finger in the sand, and Cora was expressing her displeasure in English. All the sounds simply jumbled together in her ears. She wished they were not all looking at her. At least Chingachgook had finally released her wrist.

"Father," Nathaniel said, now in English for the benefit of the girls, "I think we can get there before the snow."

Chingachgook took a stick and began to poke the fire with it. "You said that you had no desire to undertake another journey."

"That was...an exaggeration. I originally doubted their ability, yes. But they surprised me. And I don't think it is fair to expect them to live here over the winter. They have nothing of their own, no provisions..."

Alice glanced at Cora, surprised herself by this statement, and saw her sister looking at Nathaniel with a look in her eyes she couldn't interpret. It bothered her a little.

"From here to Al-ban-ee is not a trip of a few days or even of a few weeks." Chingachgook tapped a log for emphasis, and their eyes were all drawn to the way in which the sparks scampered upwards, disappearing in the direction of the smokehole above. "Yet I also believe that the English women should return to where they may find more of their own people. Their way is not our way, and to keep them here even until spring may unnecessarily delay their finding their future path."

_But we know no one in Albany,_ Alice thought. _What will we do there?_

There was a brief pause while the people gathered all considered the last sentence spoken, and watched the fire burn.

_Their own people_, Uncas thought, looking at Alice now. Was that what she wanted? He supposed it must be. He couldn't conceive of living in a city amongst whites, and he imagined she must feel the same way about being here.

Strange that his father seemed to look at her and see nothing but ill-health. Uncas knew Alice was not strong, at least not with the same strength of someone like Sanquen or the other Indian women of the camp, but he didn't think she was frail. Where Chingachgook saw Alice's wintry coloring as the absence of life, Uncas saw the beauty and delicacy of it, the way he might look upon a marsh glassed over with the first ice of the year.

The silence stretched and his father turned to look at him, speaking in their own language. "You have heard your brother's thoughts and mine on this matter, Uncas, but we have not heard yours. What do you have to say?"

Chingachgook was looking at him very keenly. Uncas had never intentionally kept anything from his father that he could recall--there had never been a need.

Until now, perhaps.

"I have no strong feelings on the matter," he said resolutely, aware of Nathaniel's eyes also on him. It was, if not a lie, certainly a diversion from the truth, but he did not know how else to answer the older Mohegan's question.

"Then you are committed to bringing them back, along with your brother?"

"I am, Father, if you wish it."

"Yet you seem reluctant."

Nathaniel interposed, "I think it is not reluctance but caution he feels, Father. As you say, it will be a long journey, taking us away from the fall hunt, which you know is Uncas' favorite season."

Uncas felt a swift stab of relief at these words of support, but nonetheless had to glance away, unable to meet Nathaniel's gaze.

"Regardless, you cannot leave immediately. There will be many preparations to be made. Food. Warmer clothing. You will do best to take the canoe downriver and trade with the Wampanoag for horses. From there you can go on to the city."

"I think we can be ready to go in a few more days," Nathaniel said. He switched to English again. "And now, the women look quite tired and ought to get some rest. Come, Uncas, we can walk them back." He rose to his knees, and Cora and Alice followed slowly, uncertain as to what exactly had been decided.

***

Cora touched Nathaniel's shoulder as the four of them moved outside, preparing to head back to the other wikwam. "May I speak alone with you for a few moments?"

"Certainly. Uncas, would you take Alice back first?" They watched as the other couple began to move away in the opposite direction, then Nathaniel, gallantly if unnecessarily, she thought, offered her his arm. "Let's walk, if you're not tired."

"Not at all. In fact, I'd welcome the activity." She accepted the arm, surprised at how natural it felt, and they began to move away from the camp, following one of the many paths that surrounded the area. Most of the paths were intended for single-file use but this immediate one was so well-worn that they could comfortably walk along it side by side, if they moved slowly.

For a short time they said nothing. Cora was trying to compose a sentence that would sound better spoken aloud than it did in her head, and was having a hard time with it. She sensed that Nathaniel also had much he might want to say, but was waiting for her to go first. She knew she would be better to simply come out with it, but it was proving difficult.

He observed, "It's a nice evening."

"I confess I had not noticed." Cora sidestepped an area of uneven ground. "And I also confess that I was rather hoping you might know why I wanted to talk to you tonight."

"I can't imagine. You have plans to build a better wikwam? You've discovered a new variety of corn?"

"Nathaniel, please. Be serious."

"I thought you didn't like it when I was serious."

"I did not say that I didn't like it. I said, if I recall, that I didn't know what to say to you."

"Well, then, if I am serious we can't have this conversation, because it will leave you speechless."

"Nathaniel--"

"You think that my brother is developing feelings for your sister."

The sentence she had been attempting to construct, sent out into the night air like that, seemed to ring in her ears, and for a minute she couldn't speak.

"Do you not?"

"Yes," she said almost breathlessly.

"Very well," Nathaniel said, and suddenly he sounded cold. Even the arm she was holding seemed to harden. "Let us examine this. Of what nature do you believe his feelings to be?"

"Nathaniel, please don't misunderstand me." She stopped and pulled him so he turned to face her. "I do not wish to challenge you, or him, about this, nor do I wish to blame..." She faltered, unsure of what she wanted to say. "I simply needed to know that it was not just my imagination at work. And now I know that you have seen it too."

He appeared to relax slightly. "Have you spoken to Alice?"

"No. She will not speak to me of anything important, and certainly not of this, I think." Cora was suddenly aware that the fact that she _had_ not yet spoken to Alice was a source of some bitterness for her. That she should be talking to Nathaniel about it first seemed wrong on some level, as if she were betraying her sister. Then again, wasn't it a kind of betrayal for Alice to have kept this, if this was something of which Alice herself were aware--and to be fair, Cora realized she had not actually confirmed it yet--to herself?

"If I were you," Nathaniel said, echoing the pattern in which her thoughts were starting to form, "I would find out what your sister has to say on the matter. _Before_ we go anywhere. You have talked before of your duty to her. Then it is also your duty now to give her a chance to speak on it. We may be precipitate in having this conversation."

She knew he was right, but a sense of justice compelled her to prompt, "What about Uncas; have the two of you talked?"

Nathaniel's sigh was audible only in its last few moments. He turned away from her and began to walk again. "My brother has never been one to use words overmuch. I am not at all confident that I can extract such information from him."

"Then I suppose we both have our work ahead of us."

"I suppose so."

Again they walked in silence for some time. Cora, though troubled by the potential these recent developments had to become problematic for their futures, was however taking comfort in the fact that she and Nathaniel had managed to discuss it without damaging their own familiarity.

The night air was soft and warm around them; the stars sparkled through the treetops.

Nathaniel said abruptly, "It is getting very late; I had better take you back to camp. Let us talk again of this tomorrow, once we have spoken to our respective siblings; we may then be better equipped to reach some kind of conclusion."

"Very well," she agreed, and they turned.

***

Uncas had been more than ready to escape the oppressive atmosphere of his aunt's wikwam when Nathaniel had made their departure known; he was not skilled in the art of equivocation, nor even comfortable with its use, and it had taken an extreme exertion of will to deliver the statement that he had, regarding his acceptance of Chingachgook's decision to send the women back to Albany.

He walked Alice back to her wikwam in silence, simply because he had nothing to say and it seemed natural to keep silent in such a circumstance. It did not occur to him that she might misinterpret this silence and he was consternated when, as they paused in front of the structure, the moonlight caught the glint of tears in her eyes. But she said quickly, "Good night," and disappeared within before he could stop her. It seemed cruel to pursue her, and he stood there, irresolute, for a few more moments before he turned away.

Restlessness was an unusual state of mind for him, and he didn't quite know what to do with himself. The thought of simply going to sleep alongside a doubtless snoring Machque and Nachenum did not appeal to him at the moment. He almost wished they were on the trail right now. At least keeping watch while others slept would give him something purposeful to focus on.

He walked around the perimeter of the camp for a while. One of the dogs joined him, padding along behind inquisitively as if it, too, was bored and restless. Uncas murmured to it in Mohegan for a while. The dog seemed to like the sound of his voice.

It was not long before he heard Cora and Nathaniel coming back down the trail. Nathaniel could walk silently when he wished, but was not making an effort to go unheard, and Cora was murmuring something in low tones.

They appeared in the moonlight, looking oddly guilty when they saw him, or at least Cora did. "Goodnight," she said to Nathaniel, and passed Uncas by on her way in to the wikwams.

"Goodnight," Nathaniel answered to her departing figure.

Uncas crouched down and tousled the silky-rough ears of the dog still loyally waiting at his side.

Gazing at his little brother, who had never been far behind and indeed had often been ahead of him, Nathaniel knew he really did not have the heart to have this conversation. And yet he expected the same thing of Cora, and he had promised her.

He wished he didn't have to keep that promise.

He wished things had not gotten complicated.

And he was very, very close to wishing they'd never met the Munro sisters.

"_Nimat_," he said, trying to sound gentle. It was the word for brother used between men who viewed each other as equals. There was a different word for a younger brother, but Nathaniel had not used that one in a long time.

Uncas looked up then, giving what seemed to be a reluctant smile.

"I don't wish to ask an unwelcome question, but..."

"You, too?"

Nathaniel scrubbed his face with his palms in discomfort. "I'm sorry, Uncas. But Father was right to ask you. If we're to undertake this journey together, I will have to know if your heart is going to be elsewhere."

"I don't know where my heart is." Uncas said it so quietly that Nathaniel had to suspend breathing for a moment to hear him.

The silence stretched as if drawn on a long taut cord. Even the dog, whose tail had not stopped wagging while Uncas's hand rested on its head, seemed to quieten. Moments passed, while the wind in the treetops calmed, then stirred the leaves again.

Nathaniel knew quite well that he was supposed to say something encouraging, or wise, at this juncture, but he couldn't think of a thing that would be appropriate and not sentimental or annoying in counterpoint to Uncas's admission. _Maybe _I'm_ the one who's not good with words_, he thought ruefully. _It is my place to be here now. It is my role. Why is it so hard?_

He waited too long to think of something to say, and the moment of vulnerability passed. Uncas rose in an abrupt movement, his features solidifying into their habitually solemn, noncommittal expression, with just a touch of sternness. "No need to worry, Nathaniel. When it is time to leave I will be ready to accompany you."

"And them," Nathaniel said carefully, but Uncas didn't flinch.

"And them."

He could see that was all he was going to get, at least for that night.

_***_

By the time Cora crawled back into the wikwam, Alice had managed to get her emotions under control, but only just barely. She was confused and upset and was just tired of being _looked_ at. During the day if she ventured out of the wikwam at all it seemed that everyone stared at her. And then there had been that whole unnerving meeting with Uncas' father, who clearly thought she was nothing but a weak, ailing child.

She knew she was more than that, but she actually couldn't blame Chingachgook because she had never felt more weak or useless in her life, with the exception of a couple of points on their way here. Yet she did not know how it was possible that the son looked at her as if he saw what she could be and the father only saw what was not there.

Right now she didn't want to be looked at at _all_, however. She wanted to be alone.

But Cora was back.

"Alice, are you sleeping?" her sister whispered.

She had wrapped herself in the blanket and had her face away from the fire, and for an instant she was tempted to let Cora think so, but she was in fact nowhere near sleep and to keep up the pretense that she was until Cora herself fell asleep might be too difficult. "No."

Cora touched her shoulder. "Are you all right? I'm sorry that...that their father was handling you, before. He should have asked permission to touch you."

"It doesn't matter. Nobody asks permission for anything here. They just do it." She gazed dully at the hide wall.

"But are you feeling all right, really?"

"I am just tired. It is my time of the month and my stomach is paining," she lied. It was, in fact, her time, but she had no menstrual cramps at the moment.

"Oh." Cora's voice was sympathetic, with an undertone of tension running through it. "Alice, we must talk."

She shifted so that she was lying on her back, and turned her eyes obediently towards her sister. Cora's dark curls were escaping her braid again, framing her troubled face.

"You have been crying." She moved to touch Alice's face, wonderingly, but Alice moved her head back in response, out of her reach. Cora looked startled, then her mouth tightened. She placed her hands back in her lap, as if agreeing to desist.

"What is it you wish to talk about?" The coolness of her own voice surprised her a little. She'd not meant to sound so chill, it was just that she was still working at ruling her emotions, which were still threatening to overthrow her.

Cora took a deep breath and held it. "I want to talk to you about Uncas."

Alice experienced a strange thrill of nervousness. "What about him?" she replied as calmly as she could manage.

"I am concerned that he has--that he may have come to feel--" Cora faltered for a moment, and continued on firmly, "That he may have developed an attachment to you. An attachment which--" she spoke over Alice's groan of protest. "Which I believe must not be allowed to develop any further. Alice, I want nothing but your health and happiness, I pray you understand me when I say this. Do you?

"Do I understand you?" Alice repeated. She felt a little dizzy, though she was lying down. She could not focus on what Cora was saying. _Uncas...may have developed an attachment to you._ It circled around in her mind. She tried to decide how she felt about it. She was not ready to talk about it with Cora, of that alone she was certain. "Sister," she said, speaking firmly too, as firmly as she knew how, "you do not need to worry. I admit I was insulted when Nathaniel questioned my behavior before, and I considered resisting his and your authority...but...you were right. I behaved badly. I shall not do so again. I have no desire to...to..." It was her turn to stumble over the words. "To dally with a...sa--a native."

Cora looked at her searchingly. "I believe Uncas to be a fine example of his race, Alice, and I am not trying to convince you to think otherwise. It is just that--"

"I know. I know. Now please may we not talk of this further?"

Cora's mouth softened as she regarded her little sister. "All right," she said gently. "Get some rest, you do look tired."

Alice turned over, pulling the newly washed and dried blanket around her and tucking her arms under her head to provide a pillow.

It was their first night in their own wikwam, and she lay awake for a long time.


	20. Chapter 20

_(just a quick note about the characters and the seasons they represent. Alice is obviously winter--fragile, dormant--and Uncas needs to be the counterpart to that, so he is summer: dependable, heat, life at its peak. With Cora and Nathaniel they could have gone either way, but I chose spring for Cora because she represents the yearning and impatience of spring to become something more powerful than it currently is, whereas fall is more conflicted about its identity. So that was also an obvious choice for Nathaniel because he will always be caught between the white and native worlds. I'd originally had more anecdotes/flashbacks that might have made all this a little clearer but I took them out because I wanted to keep the main story moving forwards.)_

In the morning, waking up to a day that was cool and overcast, with the promise of rain in the air, Cora sought out Nathaniel to see if he had fared any better in his conversation with his brother than she had with her sister. She couldn't find him in the camp, but one of the men, understanding who she wanted, directed her towards the river. She found Nathaniel there, working on one of the dugout canoes.

"Good morning," she said as she approached him.

He had a implement like a flat, curved knife in his hand, and he was scraping along the inside of the bow, carving out strips of aged wood from its sides and floor. He glanced up when he heard her speak. "How'd you sleep?"

"Well," Cora said, although she hadn't really. "What are you doing there?"

"Making this a little more river-worthy. It's not meant to hold four people and their supplies, so it needs to sit a bit lighter in the water."

"We are already making preparations, then, to go downriver?"

"Sooner is better than later, given the turn of the season." Nathaniel straightened for a moment and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, then leaned in again and guided the tool along another stretch of wood. "Our aunt is already sewing cloaks for the two of you girls; I saw her this morning."

"That is kind of her."

"Well, you'll need them. Depending on how the journey goes it might already be snowing by the time we reach Albany."

"Mmm."

Cora made a seat for herself amongst some nearby rocks and watched the American for a while, admiring the muscles in his forearms--he was wearing a shirt, but the sleeves were rolled up to his upper arms--as he worked. He did not seem to be distracted by her observation, but concentrated on the job at hand.

She was trying not to think too much about the journey itself, particularly about their destination. After all, there was nothing for them in Albany, and she suspected that Nathaniel knew that. He knew they were now parentless and had no connections. She was glad, however, that he wasn't questioning her much about what would happen when they got there, because she didn't know, and she wanted to be able to respond with something at least partly convincing when and if he asked her about her plans for herself and Alice.

_Alice.._.

"Nathaniel, I wonder if you have had a chance to learn more about what we discussed last night." She shifted, crossing her legs under the dress and rearranging its folds more comfortably over them, scanning his face to see if his expression changed.

"I did," he said finally, after a long pause, "but I can't say that what I learned is of any great help to either of us."

"It is a delicate situation," Cora murmured. "I, myself, have little to report, except to say that Alice assures me that she intends to comport herself with the utmost propriety, and I believe that she will."

Nathaniel shot her a side glance from under dark, disbelieving eyebrows. "Words are not actions, and less still feelings."

Cora considered this enigmatic statement for a short time. "By that I take it you mean that we must agree we cannot truly know what is in someone's heart?"

"Right," he said, looking at her directly now. "We cannot."

For a moment she met his gaze uncomfortably, uncertainly. A pair of ducks whooshed by them on the river, scattering into the air, and the sound brought them back to an awareness of their surroundings. Nathaniel turned back to the canoe, clearing his throat.

"Will you come back here, after you take us to Albany?" she asked, with some diffidence.

"The camp will no longer be here. The Delaware will move before the winter, as this area is starting to become hunted out. The animals need time to regain their numbers, and the vegetation also needs time to replenish itself."

"How will you know where to find everyone?"

He smiled, as if this were a silly question. "We will find them. And the camp will not be as it was. Some families move on, according to their needs and will. New families may join. Like the river, it never stays the same."

Cora liked the sound of that. Her life up until coming to the West had been marked by stability, staleness. It was one of the reasons she had accepted Duncan's proposal of marriage. Her father had wanted it, and pushed for it, of course, but Cora had taken delight in the idea of joining her new husband in a new land, the idea of change, of new things and new people...

And she had gotten all that. In more ways than she ever could have imagined. Nothing had stayed the same.

One never really got what one wished for exactly...

She remained there for an indeterminate period of time, watching Nathaniel work. It was pleasant to sit thus, to be distracted by the ripples of the water, to feel the cool wind stirring her hair, to have an agreeable silence between them.

They spent an hour or so there, and when Nathaniel was satisfied with the appearance and condition of the canoe, he walked Cora back up the path. A light rain began to fall just as they entered the camp, spitting and sprinkling on the leaves of the trees around them, and on the hide roofs of the wikwams. Sanquen joined them, and said a few murmured words to Nathaniel as they gathered around the communal pot to have a quick lunch. Cora heard her sister's name and looked inquiringly at Nathaniel, waiting for his translation.

"Alice is not in the wikwam," Nathaniel said. "A little while ago, my cousin was going to bring her some tea, but she was not there." He gave a few quick directives to Sanquen, who darted off, and turned to look at Cora. "I'm sure she is somewhere nearby. I told Sanquen to ask the others."

"Alice was sleeping when I left earlier," Cora said, concerned. "Where would she have gone? It is beginning to rain."

"No need to be alarmed yet." Nathaniel finished his mouthful of cornbread and beans and thought for a moment. "Wait till Sanquen has a chance to talk to people. Someone surely will have seen her this morning."

Sanquen was not back for another half-hour, however, and in that time the rain had been steadily falling and Cora was beginning to get genuinely worried. She had gone back and forth to their wikwam and Chingachgook's aunt's several times, hoping to find Alice, but her sister was nowhere to be seen. Nothing else was missing, only Alice herself. She asked Nathaniel about Uncas's whereabouts, wondering if perhaps they were together, despite Alice's promise of the night before, but Nathaniel found out after talking to Chingachgook that Uncas, Machque and Nachenum had gone off on a morning hunt at dawn.

By the time Sanquen returned, Cora was more than a little convinced that something bad had happened, though she was having trouble imagining what. Sanquen's news was that one of the women had seen Alice leave the wikwam and head towards to the stream earlier that morning, but she had just assumed she was going to take care of personal needs and so had not thought anything of it. No one had seen Alice since then. From their best reckoning, that meant Alice had been gone for at least two hours.

Upon hearing this, Cora felt her stomach sink with worry. Nathaniel took her hand, gave it a quick squeeze, urged her not to worry, and told her he would check out the perimeter of the camp for any kind of sign.

He returned before long with a sober expression. Alice had indeed been to the stream, and from there her tracks were muddied and confused, leading Nathaniel to an unpleasant conclusion.

"Cora, I think we have to assume that she may not have gone of her own will."

"Not gone...Then how? Who has been here?"

He ran a hand over his face. "Possibly other tribes...Iroquois...I'm hoping it was English soldiers, but it could also have been French. I don't know. Uncas is a better tracker than I--it would be better to send him--"

"Uncas is not here!"

Sanquen whistled low and long and they turned to see the hunters back from their early morning venture into the woods. They bore rifles, a string of rabbits, and unconcerned expressions, which quickly altered when Nathaniel quietly broke the news.

"Will he go?" Cora demanded, coming into the little circle of men. "Is he not tired? Nathaniel, how can he possibly catch up---"

"I will find her," Uncas said. His voice was fierce, laced with quiet determination. He was already moving, handing over his kill to the others, disappearing into the wikwam for fresh powder and supplies, out again in moments.

Cora felt dizzy. No one said anything. Sanquen's eyes were huge, concerned.

Nathaniel looked grim, watching his brother make the necessary preparations. They conversed very briefly in their own language, and then Uncas was gone, a flash of darkness through the trees and the now driving rain.

Cora prayed. _Bring my sister back from wherever she has gone to_.

***

The rain was coming down hard now, rendering tracking difficult but not impossible, not to he who had been doing it as far back as he could remember. He'd started where Nathaniel had told him the scene of the struggle--if it had been that--had occurred, and immediately had been able to determine that there were at least two. European.

Alice's sign was everywhere, now that he knew who she was, what she was and how to look for her. It was not just in the more obvious presence of her footprints, often blurred by rain or obscured by the crossing of a stream. It was in the brush of the branches against her skirts, in the touch of the leaves on her arms and hands. A stray golden hair drifting in the wind...

It was in the air. Her scent was in the air. He had held her in his arms and he knew what she smelled like. It could not be hidden from him. If she had simply run away, he would have found her within minutes, perhaps. But she was being taken. And her captors, unfortunate fools that they were, were yet not altogether fools, for they were hurrying, and making some attempt to disguise their path, and it was raining, and it would take longer, but none of this mattered to Uncas. He could find them. He _was_ finding them. He was hunting now, and it didn't matter that his quarry was man.

Man was, after all, just another animal.

So he ran through the forest, and the forest surrounded him, and opened up to him, and told him where to go. He didn't stop moving, because he couldn't, because even when he paused for an instant or two to double-check an instinct, to confirm an indication, his heart continued to pound out the rhythm that he had to follow.

_I will find you._ He said it to himself not because he didn't believe it, or because he had to convince himself, but because it was true. He knew it. And while he didn't know if she knew it or not, he willed her to hear him.

_I have promised. I will find you_.

He ran.

***

"Drink this."

Nathaniel pushed the wooden cup, from which little tendrils of steam were rising, into Cora's unwilling hands. She gazed down into it with a lack of expression. "I am not thirsty."

"Drink the damn tea," Nathaniel said forcefully, and for a moment regretted it, but then again, she had not eaten a thing the entire day, and he was not going to have her wasting away, regardless of where her sister and his brother might be this rainy night.

Cora sipped at it, as if shocked into obeying. They were sitting around Chingachgook's aunt's fire, which had been built up into a warm blaze against the cold outside. Drops of rain came through the smokehole and sputtered on the fire below, but could not discourage the flames, which leaped up eagerly towards the air.

Chingachgook and his sister were sitting, meditating, gazing into the fire. Every now and again Nathaniel's aunt would murmur a few words, words of protection and faith, as she sat, utterly still, in her cross-legged pose. They were both far away, in the world of the mind. Nathaniel knew they were not really listening and that if he chose to speak to Cora of personal things it would not matter. They might well have been elsewhere.

Waiting was a woman's game, a woman's duty, and Nathaniel thought it was rather odd that he seemed to be better at it than Cora was. Looking at her, he thought she looked tense enough that she might shatter if he touched her the wrong way.

"He has been gone for hours," she said, staring into her cup.

"I know." Soothingly, he took hold of her shoulder, but as he had suspected she would, she went rigid. "Cora, I _know_."

"You don't know what it is like." She spoke through her teeth. "I have no one but Alice now and she has no one but me. We can't lose each other." Her eyes glittered and her last word came out a sob.

Nathaniel glanced over at Chingachgook and his aunt, on the other side of the fire, but they were ignoring him. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close in a sideways hug. At first, Cora resisted, but after a moment she leant against him in defeat.

"You will not lose her." He did not add that while he had every certainty that Uncas would bring Alice back to them, what state of mind or body she might be in he could not be sure about. "Now try to rest a little."

The rain continued its relentless spattering.

***

She scarcely knew what was happening anymore.

One moment she had been washing her face by the stream. The next, she had heard a murmur of voices--and she had thought for some reason that she recognized them--and then she was being hauled up, a dirty hand had covered her mouth and she was being alternately dragged and pushed through the wilderness.

Her captors did not make any impression on her any longer. Their faces, and voices when she heard them now, did not stand out. They struck her merely as grubby and pale, like a couple of earthworms that had turned up, wriggling, in the dirt.

Her primary sensation was one of wet. The world was wet. Her skirts clung together with each step she tried to take. Rain streamed down her face and batted her eyelids. Her hair hung down her back like a heavy cord, sodden.

She longed to stop, but they would not let her. One of them had a tied a rope to her hands, and walked in front of her, hurrying her along whenever she slowed. With her hands in front of her she could not balance herself and stumbled often, slipping in the mud. They pulled her on, seeming unconcerned.

Her legs ached like they had never ached on the journey to the wolf camp.

And while she told herself that she was not going to be harmed--that if they had meant to harm her they would have done it by now, whatever terrible things they had in mind for her it did not seem to include any invasion of her person--she was also afraid.

There was nothing but rain. Puddles on the ground in front of her. Streams that they traversed. Rivulets running from her head down her neck into her bodice.

Her wrists slipped a little in the knotted rope and chafed at the pressure of the fibers. She tried to bring them back closer to their body, but her captor tugged without even looking back. _You are the savages_, she thought suddenly, honestly. _The only savages out here are you_...

She was dizzy with fatigue, so much so that she thought she might faint.

She stumbled on.

He caught up with them just as the afternoon was ending. The rain had not stopped. It continued its steady falling, soaking into the earth. It was the last rain of summer, Uncas knew. When it came again, it would be bitterly cold and merciless. Now, it was not warm, but it was not cruel. He was thankful for that. He needed no further barriers in the matter of getting her back safely.

He watched them for just a few moments from an overhanging promontory, letting his heart slow to a certain degree. It was important that a hunter be calm. He could be taken advantage of if he were otherwise.

He saw their mistake instantly. One ahead, one behind. Alice faltering along in between. The second one was half-a-dozen steps behind her. They were alert, but not alert enough. The travelling, the rain, were wearing on them.

Light-footed, he made his way down and around behind them on the trail they created. He had to follow, behind the cover of trees and bushes, for another half-mile before the wilderness created a naturally advantageous spot to move on the second one.

Uncas stepped forwards, his movements silenced by the steady rain, and expertly slit the throat of the Frenchman who followed Alice. Hot blood ran over his fingers, and instantly mixing with rainwater, down to his elbows. He ignored it, and held the man, who slumped back against him, shifting his weight to prevent them both from falling. The man gurgled lightly. Uncas held him lightly. Prey was not to be disrespected and he bore this particular man no ill-will, at least not yet. As he felt the life trickle out of the other, he let him fall, slowly, to the ground. Alice's skirts were disappearing into the forest ahead of him. _I have--almost--found you_.

_Their way is not our way. _His father's words then rose unbidden in his mind. And he felt calm, because he knew it was not true, not for him, not any more. Her way _was _with him. There could be no other answer. He moved forwards.

Drawing his tomahawk from his belt, he felt its familiar heft, balanced it in his hand.

Alice saw, in wonderment, the man in front of and just slightly to the right of her stumble, as she herself had stumbled countless times in the past few hours. But this time was different. He sank to his knees, something buried in his back. His hand, still clutching her rope, jerked convulsively and sent her lurching forwards. She almost fell on him. She screamed. An alien sound that did not seem to belong to her. She landed, too, on her knees, scrabbling in the mud, desperate to get away from that wounded body to which she was far too close. His hand slackened. The rope came free. Alice tried to move, but she could only skitter backwards like a new foal, drowning in the rain.

Uncas moved into her line of sight then and it was only then, finally, she realized what had happened, that he was there, that he had come for her. She had never seen anything like the way he looked, focused and bloody and rather terrifying. And then, even while she thought she had seen the worst that she would have to endure that day, he stepped past her, over the body of her fallen captor and, although the creature's eyes were still open, took a knife and with a quick, precise gesture removed the scalp from the top of his head.

She moaned into her hands, still bound by the rope, and tried to look away, but when she turned away the dizziness overcame her, and then she did faint.


	21. Chapter 21

At Nathaniel's urging, Cora had gone back to their own wikwam to get some rest, because she had been sitting up waiting for so long that her muscles were starting to twinge in protest. He had built up the fire and stayed with her, at her side, murmuring some kind of Mohegan prayer or lullaby or something designed to be calming until she drifted off.

She never really fell completely asleep, however, and it was with a dazed jolt that she roused herself at the sound of shouts outside. Nathaniel sprang into action, joining whoever was outside.

They were back. Cora felt her heart pound when she saw the limp body of her sister at the door, in Uncas's arms, both of them soaked and their clothes spattered with blood. He knelt, carrying her into the wikwam and laying her carefully on the deerskin hides. Nathaniel, Sanquen, Machque and Nachenum were all crowding around behind him at the entrance.

Alice's face was white, her lips colorless. Cora grabbed her sister's hands and chafed them in her own, trying not to panic. _She's still breathing_.

"What happened, Uncas? Where did you find her? Is she all right?" The questions spilled out of her.

Uncas answered only the last one. "She will be, if you get her warm."

Dripping, he ran a hand over Alice's face and checked the pulse in her throat.

Nathaniel intervened. "Come on, brother, you've got to get dry too. Let the women look after her first. Come." He had to pull him away, and as the men took him back, Sanquen slipped in, her small brown face concerned, and knelt beside Cora.

Alice's dress was completely water-logged, filthy and blood-stained. Cora could not see how it could be salvaged, and they needed to get it off her in a hurry, so she simply ripped most of it away, discarding the tattered shreds in a pile. The shift she left on, and then bundled her sister in the blanket. Alice's breathing was fairly steady, but she showed no indication of coming back to consciousness as they worked over her.

Sanquen darted in and out, bringing more logs to throw on the fire, which soon caused the little shelter to steam. She prepared hot tea, and came up with heavier furs, which they piled around Alice until they were sure she was getting warmer, though her hands and feet were still icy. As she sat with Alice, holding her hand, Cora was infinitely grateful for the young Delaware girl's quiet efficiency and inoffensive presence.

"Cora--" It was Nathaniel outside. "Uncas insists on coming back in to sit with her."

He held the flap open, up against the rain, to let Uncas, now changed into dry shirt and buckskins, back in. Uncas seemed exhausted, but clean. He squatted on his heels by Alice's head and took her hands from Cora, who was torn between resenting this bit of presumptuousness and yet blessing him for having kept his promise to bring her little sister back. She moved down and began to rub Alice's feet, trying to restore the circulation.

She was aching to know what had happened, who was responsible for the abduction, all the details of what had transpired, but she knew it was going to have to wait. Uncas looked remote and focused at the same time and she didn't think he was in the mood to answer any more of her questions.

Nathaniel came in then too, sending Sanquen out with a directive to bring more tea for all of them. The wikwam was barely big enough for four of them anyway, and the air felt too close for so many people.

It was not much later that Alice finally stirred, shifting within the confines of the blanket. Her eyelids fluttered, and she looked at all of them; Cora first, then Nathaniel, then her eyes at last settling on Uncas, whose face was closest to hers. She stared at him for a long moment and then her eyes, abruptly, filled with tears.

Though they had no context to understand it, it was such a deeply personal and private instant that both Cora and Nathaniel immediately felt their presence out of place, and had to glance away for a few heartbeats.

"Alice," Cora murmured then, her own eyes pricking with sympathetic tears. "You're back. How do you feel?"

"I...I don't know." Alice looked at her now, confused. "I don't remember anything since..." She swallowed. "I'm so thirsty."

Uncas took from Nathaniel the cup of tea Sanquen had brought back and held it to her lips, but he moved too quickly and she flinched. Chagrined, he hesitated, and Cora, taking the cup from him, helped Alice to sip a little.

Nathaniel was fast becoming aware he was the only person who currently had his emotions in check, so he said calmly, "You're uninjured, Alice? Everything works, nothing is broken?"

"I think so." She gave him a tremulous smile, as if relieved by the simpleness of the question. She looked very young to him now, wrapped in the blanket with one white shoulder out, her pale hand--which Uncas still gripped--lying on the dark hides beside her. She was very much the little sister he had never had. He was immensely relieved his brother had brought her back. But now that she was safe...

He put a hand on Uncas' shoulder and spoke in Mohegan. "We must go, let them rest."

"I will not leave her." Uncas uttered the words with vehemence.

"She is safe now. And--" he tried to speak gently. "You are scaring her. She needs more time."

Uncas hesitated, but Alice did look intimidated, and after another moment he released her hand, and let Nathaniel guide him outside.

"How does the girl fare?" Chingachgook inquired as they re-entered their aunt's wikwam. Uncas did not answer, so Nathaniel responded for him. "She has come to her senses, Father, and we can be hopeful she will make every recovery."

"Mm." The older Mohegan considered that, his eyes on his younger son. "To be able to predict that with certainty, we would need to know the nature and extent of the shock she has received."

"They did not harm her." Uncas spoke now. "She was merely exhausted from the pace. There was no evidence they bothered to stop at all along the way."

"And?" Chingachgook pressed. "When you found them?"

The young man wordlessly produced the French scalp from his bag, holding it aloft for inspection.

"She watched you do it?" Nathaniel demanded. "No wonder she passed out, poor kid."

His brother gave him an incredulous glare. The truth was they both knew honor had demanded such an action, though arguably it would have been better had Alice not seen such a thing performed.

"Do not berate him for that," Chingachgook said. "I have always taught you both to do as your conscience dictates and your family's honor requires."

"I'm just saying he might have told her to look the other way. I don't know--Englishwomen are sensitive creatures."

"Father," Uncas said, sounding immeasurably weary. He was crosslegged, his head bent as he stared at something they could not see. "You asked me a question yesterday. Today, I must give you a different answer."

Chingachgook sat forwards, his eyes becoming intent.

Nathaniel felt an inward sensation of something close to dread. He had a feeling they weren't going to like what Uncas was going to say, and from the expression on Chingachgook's face it was evident their father shared this feeling.

"I will not be going to Albany with my brother." Uncas paused for just an instant, then finished in a quieter tone, "Nor will Alice."

The aunt began to mutter in the background, but neither Uncas nor Nathaniel were listening to her as their ears were attuned only to whatever Chingachgook might say in response to this.

"Father? Did you hear what I said?" Uncas looked up. His gaze continued to be respectful, for which Nathaniel was thankful. He had yet to see his brother challenge his father in any matter and he had no desire to behold the outcome of such a circumstance.

"I heard," Chingachgook said at last, "but the meaning of your words escapes me. What is it that you have in mind?"

"Father, I am sorry. I do not wish to trouble or anger you. But I cannot take...the girl...back."

"You wish to wait until the spring?"

Nathaniel wondered if Chingachgook were being deliberately obtuse. He had never known him to be such, but, then again, how was it possible not to know what Uncas was getting at?

Uncas's cheekbones heated deeper beyond their normal rich copper color. "No. I am telling you that when you said her way is not my way, I agreed with you. But I have since changed my mind. There is no other way for her except with me."

"With you," Chingachgook repeated, and then, almost indulgently, "Uncas. My son. Day cannot dwell with night."

Uncas said nothing, just glanced down at his hands, striving to prevent his emotions showing in his face.

"What about dawn?" Nathaniel put in. "And twilight? Two times when--" he inclined his head in an apologetic gesture of respect "--that statement is rendered false, Father."

Chingachgook glanced at him but with no visible anger. "You have always been good with words, my older child, and with observations, but your quick-wittedness does not cancel out the truth in what I have said. Uncas knows it does not. Dawn and twilight are but moments in the day. Would you live each day for a moment, Fox?"

His son did not, or could not answer, but his black eyes shone with stubbornness.

"She knows nothing about cooking or home-building. She does not even know how to tan a hide."

"I will help her," Uncas said now, determinedly.

"It is not the job of a warrior to help a woman. It is her job to provide support to _you_. Will you hunt all day, and then come home at night to sit by the fire and weave a basket?"

"I will do that and more, if I have to."

Chingachgook sighed, as if the simple act of drawing in and expelling air would lend him an extra measure of patience. "Have you even spoken with the yellow-hair?"

_Or her sister_, Nathaniel thought, which was also a pertinent question. He had a feeling that it was not going to sit well with the older Munro girl. And who could blame her, really, if it didn't, all things considered? Nathaniel knew there was no better man than Uncas, and he had no reason to think Uncas would not cherish Alice above all else had he the opportunity to do so, but convincing Cora, a product of English society, that the two could make any kind of life together was...

Going to be _his_ task, no doubt. Nathaniel spared himself a self-pitying internal groan before coming back to the present and focusing on his family.

"No, Father, but--"

"Then do not speak of this to me again until you have." Chingachgook rose, eliminating the possibility of any further discussion, ignoring too the impassioned chattering of his sister in the background. "I will keep watch with the others this night." He stooped and disappeared outside into the rainy dark.

***

Alice awoke the next morning with two sensations competing for her attention; one, that she was blissfully warm, and two, that she was powerfully hungry. She had not eaten since breakfast of the previous day. The coals of the fire built the night before still smoldered in the center of their wikwam. Her shift had dried on her, under the blanket and piles of fur that had been heaped on top. She wriggled into a sitting position. Cora came awake, too, then, hearing or sensing her move. "Alice. How do you feel?" Her sister scanned her face anxiously.

"Just sore. I need to eat something."

"You stay here. I will bring you some soup." Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, Cora pushed back her own furs and rose. "We were so worried about you last night."

Alice smiled wanly. The events of the previous day seemed like some unfortunate dream. She tried not to recall them, but moments flashed unbidden to her mind anyway; trudging through puddles, the ache of her wrists, the staring eyes of the scalped man...

She fought to control nausea.

"I'll be right back," Cora said, giving her arm a quick pat, and disappearing outside.

_How could Uncas have done it?_ She'd known, even hoped the men would be killed if and when they were caught; she'd suffered too much pain and indignity following her ambush not to expect that, but it had never entered her mind that she might see a scalping, gruesome act that it was, take place. She didn't think she was ever going to forget what it had looked like.

Cora was back as she had promised almost immediately with breakfast, soup and some boiled corn, which Alice ate without tasting, she was so hungry.

"Uncas is outside," Cora murmured, watching her eat. "Waiting for you to wake up, I suppose."

"Oh," Alice said faintly.

"You don't have to go out, if you don't feel up to it. Maybe it would be better if you stayed inside today."

"No, I...I have to. I am not sick. Only tired." She set aside the bowls and moved, but despite her statement, almost every inch of her body hurt. Yesterday had been an ordeal which she knew she would not forget, even after the physical reminders faded. She touched the top of her shift self-consciously. "What am I wearing?"

"Your dress was not salvageable," Cora apologized. "Alice, it was torn, and the blood--I thought it was yours..."

Alice shook her head. It would have been the blood that had been all over Uncas, thus the blood of her captors. She didn't think she cared about the dress anymore. "It doesn't matter. I can wear the robe his cousin gave me before."

"I will go find out so you can get dressed." Her older sister left again.

It was a little unnerving, once Alice had gotten decently clothed and stepped outside the wikwam, to see that Uncas was indeed there, waiting patiently as if he was standing watch over her as he had most of the nights before they'd gotten to camp. Perhaps he_ was_ guarding her. He had his rifle at his side, and his tomahawk--she had to avert her eyes, remembering having seen it buried in the back of the Frenchman--tucked into his belt. He had been in the perpetual squat of his people, but he rose instantly upon seeing her at the entrance. He looked, for perhaps the first time she had seen him, unsettled.

"Alice. Are you--?"

"I am fine," she said quickly, uncomfortably. He came to her and took both her hands in his. She pulled back, hesitantly, aware of the curious glances from other villagers in the vicinity: women, children, even some of the men.

Uncas didn't seem to be bothered. "Look at me."

"I _am_ looking at you," she said, staring at his shoulder.

"Alice. Please." She risked a quick glance upwards and wished she hadn't; the intensity in his eyes made her stomach clench in uncertainty.

Frustrated, Uncas spoke in Mohegan. "It is not the way of my people for a man to say this to a woman. I should be waiting for you to say it. But my father has insisted. I want you to stay with me. I want--"

Machque, passing by, gave Uncas an encouraging slap on the shoulder. Uncas barely noticed. He was focused on Alice's face. The others did not matter.

"I don't understand," Alice said, although she was terribly afraid that she did, if only even a little. Why were there so many people around all of a sudden? She was vaguely aware that Cora, too, and Nathaniel, were not far off, possibly watching them. Could there be no middle ground in this mad world; were they always to be either surrounded by staring faces, or completely alone in the desolate wilderness? She took a nervous breath. "Uncas, I don't..."

His gaze sharpened and he took firmer hold of her arm. "Are you going to faint again?"

"No," Alice said, managing to insert some indignation into the response. It was the 'again' that vexed her.

His hands were so warm, radiating strength. His thumbs drifted to her wrists, which bore the reddened marks of yesterday's captivity. Both of them remembered.

Machque called over, with what seemed like a ribald remark. Uncas glanced back then and gave him a reluctant chuckle. It was of embarrassment, but Alice perceived the two of them to be mocking her and a sudden rage welled up in her uneasy soul.

She jerked her hands away from his. "Do not touch me! I know what you are thinking. I will not be a...an Indian's whore!"

Though no one in the vicinity but her sister and his brother could understand this--Uncas himself looked baffled, for it was unlikely he'd ever heard the word before or could fully register its meaning in such a context anyway--heads turned at the vehemence of her declaration. Cora looked shocked. Even Nathaniel frowned.

"Let us go in," he suggested. "We are causing quite a scene."

Once the four were inside the wikwam, Alice sat defiantly on the other side of the fire. She regretted having spoken so rashly--she had long since stopped thinking of Uncas as just any other Indian--but not the emotion which had provoked it. So he had rescued her, certainly, but why were people acting as if that entitled him to something? Why did he think he had the right to hold her, to look at her with those brown eyes? To speak to her in his language as if he expected her to understand?

"Why is everyone looking at me?" she said, unable to prevent the petulance filtering into her tone.

Nathaniel answered her. "What you said outside was extremely harsh. No one has asked you to--"

"No one has asked me anything at all!" Alice retorted, though she knew Uncas had been about to, even if she wasn't sure what exactly it would have been.

Nathaniel gave her a quelling look. "In our culture, the man does not ask such questions. It is up to the woman to decide what path their relationship will take."

Alice said angrily, "In that case, I have decided. I will stay here."

"You cannot be serious, Alice?" Cora breathed. "You know nothing of living in the wilderness--and--and you would be cutting yourself off from any other society."

"Probably true," Nathaniel agreed. "Then again, there's not much in the way of your kind of society around here anyway. Unless they wanted to make their permanent home in Albany, and I can't imagine why anyone would, there is no one here who'll much mind their being together." He gave Uncas a wicked teasing grin. "With the possible exception of a few broken-hearted local lasses. Now, Cora, let's leave the two of them to discuss it in private, shall we?" He rose, and taking her hand, though Cora looked doubtfully back at Alice, led her out of the wikwam.

***

Nathaniel, without asking, tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and strolled companionably at her side, ignoring the villagers. Cora walked along in a state of extreme distraction. "Nathaniel, I cannot help but think you are dismissing the difficulties of the situation rather too easily!"

"Not at all. Those kids? They're going to need all the help they can get. And I'd like to be able to stick around and offer some, but I'm going to be busy, taking _you_ back to the city."

Cora rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand; she was beginning to get a headache. She had almost forgotten about the need to return to Albany...

"I guess we'd better winter there, once we pick up your things," Nathaniel continued casually. "Don't much fancy the idea of making the journey back in ice and snow."

The breeze stirred in the trees and at first Cora did not understand. "What--whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, I suppose we'll have to find ourselves a minister at some point. I'm guessing you wouldn't have it any other way." Nathaniel spoke in the same off-handed tone, but his gaze was fixed on her.

"You...you mean..."

"I do."

"I...I thought you said the woman usually makes such decisions..."

"Yes, but I'm white." He grinned.

"Nathaniel, are you teasing me?"

"No," he said, and stopped. "I'm quite serious."

Cora stared into his eyes that were the colour of the bright American sky. How was it possible that in the space of what had really just been a few days, not even a full season out of the year, she felt she knew him? Knew every line of his face and body, every expression and gesture? How was it possible that she had forgotten Duncan for this man? What kind of woman did that make her? Duncan had been her future husband.

She felt sick, and worse because she knew she had no desire to play difficult for Nathaniel. She had no desire to question him further, or to make him wait for her, or to refuse him. She just wanted to be at his side.

Cora didn't know if that was something to be ashamed of or not.

"So, miss," he said. "Your silence is unusual, and I must confess it makes me nervous."

She was unable to help laughing then at his rueful tone, and his affectionate use of the old appellation. "I am sorry." She straightened her back, and tightening her grip on his arm, said, "I find your proposal quite...acceptable, sir."

"Good." Nathaniel took her then, pulled her into his embrace and, right out in the open, delivered a quick, warm kiss that was rather more energetic than romantic, but which made her knees weak nonetheless.

Someone, somewhere, gave a whoop of enthusiastic approval.

___________________________

_final chapter coming soon..._


	22. Chapter 22

After his brother and Cora left, Uncas looked back at the withdrawn, grey-eyed slip of a girl he was defying his father to be with and wondered if he could start over. He sensed that words were not going to serve him in his endeavour, no matter how hard he tried to bend them to his will.

She had said she was going to stay. But he sensed that had come more out of pique than an actual realization and acceptance of what her staying there would mean.

_Her way is now my way_.

The thought, though it formed itself quite naturally in his head, was not one that would translate to words of any language he knew.

A tiny curl of smoke circled upwards from the ashes of the fire, making its way towards the gap of open air to escape outside.

They were both silent.

At last he stirred. "Come here."

Somewhat to his surprise, she did, moving carefully, and he realized with a pang that she must still be in pain from the previous day. Alice settled down beside him, clasping her arms close to her body, looking a little less truculent and more cautious now that they were alone. She glanced up at him, a lock of pale hair falling past her cheek.

He took her hand, unsurprised that it was icy, rubbing her fingers reflectively with his thumb. Alice suddenly blurted, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said what I did earlier, but I--"

"Ssh." Uncas shook his head. "I only need to know if you meant it. About staying."

She met his eyes, and he saw uncertainty, but trust mirrored there. She gave a tiny nod.

Her doubt was heart-wrenching, because he knew, as sure as he was of his own desire to keep her at his side, if he thought that she wanted to return with her sister to the city, he would take her. It was impossible to bind a person to one with one's own feelings alone. _Day cannot dwell with night. _His father's words returned, unbidden, to his mind. Perhaps he _was_ a fool to be even considering this. Not that he doubted his own ability to look after her, or even to do all the extra work that a untaught woman would mean; but what if she changed her mind?

He suddenly wondered what a child of theirs would look like. Maybe it would have her grey eyes. His dark hair. Uncas realized that such a child would not be fully accepted either into his society or hers--as he knew Nathaniel, despite all appearances to the contrary, had never been fully accepted by some--and the thought made him feel sick.

Shifting, he pulled Alice into his arms, ignoring her squeak of surprise, which in turn surprised him; he didn't understand why her body tensed. She had slept against him before, and he'd spent most of yesterday carrying her next to him, though granted she'd been unconscious for most of that.

He ran an inquiring finger along her cheekbone. "_Wiyon-ashay_. What is it?"

Alice looked past him at the triangle of light spilling in through the wikwam entrance. "It is morning," she murmured, seeming embarrassed. "Anyone could come in..."

"Anyone could," he agreed. "You will have to get used to that."

"I don't want to get used to it. It is indecent."

He smiled at her stubbornness.

After a little while she ventured, "Uncas...yesterday..."

"Mmm."

"Why did you..."

The remembrance of it was not pleasant. The smell of death. The warm blood on his hands. He knew she was afraid he'd found it enjoyable, but he didn't know how to tell her he hadn't. It was not something one enjoyed. It was simply what was required of a warrior.

He knew she wouldn't understand. "Better if we don't talk about it."

Alice twisted her head back to stare up at him in frustration. "It is better that I do not understand you?"

"It is not your domain to be interested in such things."

"Such _barbaric_ things," Alice muttered.

"The Europeans do the same, and worse. I am just glad I got there before they had a chance to show you." He tightened his hold on her. "I want to give you something."

The coiled bracelet around his wrist was fitted close to his skin, but where it ended it could be bent outward and partially unwound, so as to fit the proportions of the wearer. He took it off now and slipped it around Alice's slender wrist, using his fingers to make it comfortably tight again so it would not fall off. Alice examined her new adornment, looking reluctantly pleased. "It's warm," she said, and shyly, "Thank you."

He might have kissed her then--the way she was looking up at him, he was certain she wouldn't have protested, but the whoop outside distracted them both. She drew away from him and the moment, awkwardly, was over. They went outside to see what was going on.

Cora and Nathaniel were there, Cora's cheeks a becoming pink, and Nathaniel looking like a fox that had just discovered a nest of eggs. The sisters went to each other, and Uncas grimaced at his brother. "What's all the noise about?"

"We're going to winter in Albany, and be back up here in the spring with all their things." Nathaniel's tone could barely contain its good humor, though. "What about you? Is Alice going to stay?"

"So she says." Uncas looked at the two girls hugging and felt an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy. He was happy for his brother, but it didn't seem quite fair that Nathaniel's way should be so easily established. He summoned up self-control and put that thought behind him. "I'll still have to talk to Father about it, later."

"Hmh." Nathaniel's grunt of sympathy indicated he didn't envy him that prospect.

"Still." Uncas gave him one of his rare smiles. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." Nathaniel surveyed him for a moment and then he too turned his gaze towards the women.

They had never looked more different to Uncas's eyes. Cora was all sunset and wild beauty--he could see, no doubt, why his dark-haired, restless brother had fallen for her. When he looked at Alice he saw a different kind of loveliness. It was her fragility that was arresting. She was like a slender birch branch gently dusted with sun-goldened snow.

He hoped she was stronger than she looked, for certainly she would need to be.

***

Now that it had been established, at least to Nathaniel's satisfaction, that Uncas and Alice were not going to Albany, his plan for packing the canoe had to be altered somewhat, but the new situation didn't displease him. Not only would the canoe be much lighter, and they could take more in the way of tradable goods for the Wampanoag horses they would need to have if they were to make it to the city before the snow flew. He would have liked for his brother to come regardless--it was simply safer to have someone else watch when he couldn't--but he accepted the alteration to his plan with a philosophical good humor. It also meant, after all, that he and Cora were going to have a chance to be alone.

Nathaniel spent the afternoon preparing and packing the goods that they were going to take along, as well as readying his own personal gear. He wanted to be able to leave the following day and was determined that this should be made possible. His aunt had given him a fox-fur-trimmed cloak for Cora to wear as it turned cooler as well as some other changes of clothing for both of them, and had instructed Sanquen to pack a week's worth of dried meat and other provisions for them to last them until they reached the other Indian camp.

By the time evening came, he was satisfied that they were properly packed and prepared for the journey. He returned to Machque's wikwam to find that Tiskemanis and her older son had moved back in, along with the new arrival, a squalling mite with a head of furry black hair and a red face of pinched baby rage. Machque was apologetic but clearly he and Uncas would have to find a new place to sleep that night. There was always his aunt's wikwam, which was already occupied by the aunt, Chingachgook, and Sanquen, which didn't leave much room for the two of them.

They had dinner there anyway, a rather somber affair. Nathaniel felt pity for his brother, who clearly wanted to talk to their father about Alice but would not broach the subject until it was mentioned first by Chingachgook. Their aunt, who had been helpful in providing supplies earlier in the day, now had nothing positive to say about either of the girls, the fate of the journey, or her nephews in general. Sanquen busied herself by bringing food to everyone and casting sympathetic looks of concern upon her cousins.

"So you are leaving tomorrow," Chingachgook said to Nathaniel, interrupting one of his sister's mumbled tirades.

"Yes, Father." Nathaniel had been about to swallow the last piece of cornbread but he stayed his hand for a moment in order to be able to better reply should Chingachgook ask him something else; not only was it undignified to respond to one's elder with a mouth full of food, it was disrespectful.

But Chingachgook looked instead at his younger son. "You. What do you have to say?"

Uncas looked up in some apprehension. "I have spoken to...the girl, as you told me to do."

Chingachgook grunted.

"She is not unwilling." Uncas said this reluctantly in English.

"Not unwilling?" Chingachgook repeated, dividing up the syllables as if he didn't understand what they meant. "To be under the protection and care of a warrior such as my son? She is a fool if she is not sensible of the honor you confer upon her."

Uncas bowed his head in acknowledgement of the closest thing to praise he would receive as an adult. They were all quiet for a while, even the aunt. Nathaniel took advantage of the silence by finishing the last piece of cornbread.

Chingachgook said, at last, "I have been giving this issue some consideration. I think it will be best if I remain with the camp over the winter, and you take the girl to the cabin."

Sanquen dropped the bowls she'd been collecting. Chingachgook's sister groaned in disbelief. Uncas looked up, startled, and even Nathaniel gave his father a second glance. Among their people, for a young couple to start life on their own anywhere was unheard of; it was a universally understood and established fact that the freshly bonded pair needed not only the emotional but the physical support of their community in making a home together. Even a properly taught Delaware wife had much to learn about the making of a home and providing for her husband, and Nathaniel couldn't begin to imagine where a young unschooled English girl like Alice would even have to start.

"There is at least two winters' worth of wood there already," Chingachgook went on, ignoring the shocked silence of his relatives. "So you ought to be able to keep the cabin warm enough even for the cold blood of that white girl."

"Father--"

"Do not argue with me, Uncas. I have spoken. She will not assimilate here. It will only make her unhappy to be the talk of the camp. If she is for you, she will learn it when she is with you, and only you. By spring you will both know."

"Father, I don't--"

"Your brother knows I am right." Chingachgook looked at Nathaniel. "Do you not?"

Nathaniel knew he had to choose his response carefully. While he agreed that Alice was not likely to thrive under the constant scrutiny of the wolf camp, however well-intentioned much of it might be, he also didn't believe she had the strength of will to live the frontier life alone with his brother, away from any other kind of support or human companionship.

Reluctantly, he said, "I do think her safety is compromised in the camp, Uncas. Yesterday proved that. She is too visible out here. It will be easier to protect her up at the cabin." If there were any more French stragglers who had heard about the existence of the white women, they would reasonably assume that they had both been brought back to Albany to live, an assumption that would be easily contradicted if and when Alice was seen in and around the camp again.

With the look Uncas gave him, one might have been forgiven for thinking he had just slapped him. But it was true.

Chingachgook, who did not assume his instructions would be followed, said, "So will you do as I say and take her there?"

"Yes," Uncas said, a little flatly. "When she is recovered from the events of yesterday, I will take her back to the cabin." He rose up off his knees and backed out of the wikwam. "Excuse me, Father. _Nohkumis_."

Nathaniel followed him out. The evening sky, revealed, was a threatening mass of bruised purple clouds flanked by pink streaks beyond the treetops. The air, as always, was sweet and thick with the scent of drying pine.

"It won't be that bad," he said, wanting to reassure him, wanting in some way to apologize.

"It won't be that good." Uncas did not seem to want reassurance or an apology.

"Come on." Nathaniel put a hand on his shoulder, which his brother, for the first time ever, shrugged off.

They walked together, though, a little aimlessly, before finding themselves stopping at the wikwam of the girls. They had only paused outside for a moment before Cora's voice said, sounding rather weary, "Yes?"

"We need somewhere to sleep," Nathaniel answered on an impulse. "We've been displaced by an infant."

Cora murmured something that might have been, "You _are_ infants," but there was a scuffling sound within and then she added, "Come in."

"I will sleep outside," Uncas muttered, starting to turn. Nathaniel grabbed his arm. "Don't be stupid. It's going to rain again tonight."

They entered the wikwam to see the sisters both on the left. Cora pointed to beyond the fire. "That's your side," she said, making it evident that they did not intend to share sleeping spaces with their respective men.

"Fine," Nathaniel said nonchalantly. "We just wanted a roof and a fire, that's all. Can you spare a deerskin?"

Alice, behind the blanket, giggled.

"You are such a trial," Cora said, tossing over a couple of hides, but amusement registered in her tone.

The fire crackled companionably as they settled down around it, all of them tired but none of them sleepy. There was still so much to be said between all of them, but no one wanted to be the one to say it. The knowledge that tomorrow would be the beginning of something different, that their lives were going to be inevitably altered from what they had been before, had come to each in its own way.

Nathaniel leaned on one elbow, tossing bits of bark into the fire. Though he was turned away from Uncas, he felt the unrest in the young Mohegan warrior, who was lying on his back looking up at the roof of the wikwam, his body rigid. Nathaniel knew his brother's path was not going to be easy, and he regretted he could not help to smooth it.

He looked across the fire at Cora. She was mirroring his position, lying on her side towards the fire, with an elbow propped idly under her head, her eyes smiling at him in the firelight. Alice he could see just beyond her, a slight dark shape shadowed by her sister's body. Being apart was going to be hard for them. He knew that. And he felt sorry for Alice, for whom he knew the separation was likely to be harder on.

Alice and Uncas seemed content to lie there without speaking, but Cora stirred restlessly after a while. "Nathaniel?"

"Yes, Miss Munro." He smiled through the flames at her. She smiled back.

"Would you tell us a story?"

"A story?" He was both baffled and flattered. He was not a storyteller. But maybe, out of the four of them, he was the only one with a voice tonight. "Well..."

"Please. It is our last night together."

She was right. The statement spoken aloud drew all of them closer, bound them up in a unified whole with its truth. Nathaniel could not deny it.

He considered for a moment, then began, at first a little uncertainly. "Before there were the four seasons, there were the four winds. North, South, East, and West. Each wind had its own strength, and its own weaknesses. But they fought over who would be the strongest. They fought over who would rule the year for the greatest length of time.

"Finally, East wind made a suggestion. What if each year were divided into four seasons? Three months for winter, in which the cold North wind would rule, three for spring, which the East wind would prevail over, three months for summer; the warm South wind's domain, and the final three months for fall, which would belong to the wise West wind. All the winds thought that this was a very good idea, and they agreed to keep their promise to participate in it. And most years, each of them did. But sometimes the winds still quarrel, and winter is longer than usual, or spring is shorter, and summer is hotter, but fall is cooler. This is because the winds have never learned how to disagree without getting angry."

"All right, I get it," Uncas said in Mohegan.

Nathaniel glanced back at him. "You get what?"

"I remember the last time I heard that one."

"You do?"

"Father told it to us when we were little. We'd been fighting."

"Really? I don't remember."

Uncas grunted in disbelief.

"Well anyway, it's still a good story." Nathaniel leaned over to dig an elbow into his brother's ribs, which Uncas automatically doubled up to prevent happening. They wrestled idly for a few moments, before Uncas gave his head a reluctant tousle of tacit acceptance.

"Thank you," Cora said, when they separated. "Good night, Nathaniel."

"'Night, Miss Munro. 'Night, sister."

There was a moment of startled silence from Alice's corner. Then--"Good night, Nathaniel," she echoed politely.

None of them, however, went to sleep right away.

***

Though it did rain that night, the following day was clear and with the promise of a blue sky later on in the afternoon. Alice and Cora had a leisurely breakfast together, not speaking much, aware of the need to separate before long, but neither wanting to talk about it.

Alice helped her sister pack her few things, including the fox cloak from the aunt that Nathaniel had given her yesterday, but still they did not talk. It was not until their hands touched while folding the blanket and tucking it into the basket Sanquen had provided that Alice looked up and saw tears glittering in the older woman's eyes.

"Cora," she said, dismayed. "You are not worried about me, surely?"

Cora smiled through them. "I am not worried for your safety, Alice, any longer, but--"

"Uncas will take care of me."

"I know that he will. I trust him for that. But I have doubts he can procure your happiness, and I want you to be happy, sister, as happy as I am."

Alice laughed through a sob. "You don't look happy."

"It's just because I don't want to leave you." Cora let go of the blanket and gripped her hands. "We will be back in the spring. It is only a few months. Will you really be all right?"

"Of course." Alice spoke with the certainty she knew her sister needed to hear.

"And...is it what you want? Truly?"

She avoided Cora's searching eyes then, not because her answer was in the negative, not because saying it was would be untrue, but because it was not that simple to her. What she wanted was hard enough to establish in her own mind, much less formulate into speech for someone else. So she said, with a little impatience, "Yes, yes."

"Well." Cora looked ashamed for a moment, and troubled. "Please understand, Alice, that even if you...change your mind...or decide that this is not what you want, I cannot do the same. I will be Nathaniel's wife, once we are in Albany--and we will always have that connection to Uncas, so it may be awkward, if..."

"I know. Don't worry. I am happy. I want this."

"All right." They finished folding the blanket and looked around the wikwam which, though it had been home for such a short time, it would seem strange to Alice to leave. She sensed there was much that Cora still wanted to say to her, but whatever there was to say was going to have to wait until they met again.

Together they left the camp and walked down the path to the beach. Uncas and Nachenum both passed them, silently, several times, bringing filled baskets and supplies that were to be loaded in the canoe.

Nathaniel was already at the beach. He looked up with a smile when he saw the women. "The weather's good for our first day of travel," he commented. "We should be able to get far before night."

"That's good," Cora said. She and Alice were still holding hands. They watched and waited while the men finished the rest of the packing of the craft.

The moments passed all too quickly until it was ready, and the two men paused around it, no one wanting to be the one to say that it was time. Nachenum had disappeared. Cora turned to Alice and they hugged.

"Be careful on the water," Alice said tremulously.

"We will." Her sister's voice was unsteady, her eyes fierce as she struggled to maintain control of her emotions. "And you be careful too."

As they drew apart, Uncas moved to stand protectively behind Alice, while Nathaniel came to take Cora's hand and help her into the loaded canoe, which sat steadily at the water's edge. Alice fought to take deep breaths and stared up at the sky. _When will I see my sister again?_

They pushed off, the canoe sliding through the water towards the center of the river. Cora was sitting on the bottom near the bow, and Nathaniel knelt in the back, guiding the canoe expertly downstream.

Uncas and Alice watched from the rocky shoreline as their figures got smaller. A wind stirred the surface of the water, puckering it, and sending the first few autumn leaves spilling from the treetops. They scattered across the ground. Nathaniel lifted a hand without turning. Alice could see Cora's dark hair tossing in the breeze until they rounded the first bend and, quite suddenly, were gone from sight.


	23. Afterword

Afterword:

As some of you noted, the transition towards the end may have seemed a little abrupt. As I said in an individual reply to a reviewer, the only excuse I can give for this is that there will be a sequel, in which feelings and consequences will naturally need to be discussed in more detail. It is my plan to focus more on Alice and Uncas in the sequel, not (just) because the readers seem to enjoy them more as a couple than Nathaniel and Cora, but because their relationship is not as stable. C and N will be able to find their place in society and with each other fairly quickly, once the details of their journey are dealt with. Alice and Uncas have much that has not been established. This is why Chingachgook insisted on giving them a sort of trial period, as it were. If they are alone, they will have nothing to do but determine what they are to each other. Well, that, and survive, of course.

Alice herself does not even fully understand what her decision to stay with Uncas is going to mean. While Uncas has already considered the possibility of them having a child together, Alice is not able to do much more than picture them innocently drifting off to sleep together in each others' arms. She is pretty naive, after all. She made that decision in a fit of pique--sure, she has genuine feelings for him but she is not at the point where she can be honest with herself and everyone else about what those feelings are. So while her decision might have seem sudden, it wasn't really uncharacteristic, IMO at least. (Her comment, made in anger, about not wanting to be his mistress did not reflect her real understanding of the situation.)

Also, while I would love to take credit for being such a regular updater, honesty compels me to admit that the bulk of this story was written over the past winter. I have been editing it and changing minor details as I went along, every couple of days, allowing me to give you frequent updates. Normally, though I am a regular writer, I can't/don't really produce more than about a longish chapter once a week. Real life and my natural pace prevent that.

That said, it's my plan to start Beyond The River within the next few weeks, after taking a brief break. There is a scene that might be in BTR that was originally my inspiration for this entire thing and I wasn't able to include it in ITF. It requires an ocean, but maybe a river will have to suffice; water is definitely one of the major motifs of this tale, along with the season imagery.

Thanks for your interest in and comments on the story.


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